Chapter 28 - 0028: I Don’t Even Have A Single Boyfriend

Chapter 28: Chapter 0028: I Don’t Even Have A Single Boyfriend

Elena’s Point Of View

"The Vespers Club," I replied, letting the name settle between us like a small act of rebellion.

Silence hung on the line for three long seconds. The distant, faint snip-snip of heavy fabric shears on Lexy’s end stopped dead, as if even her hands needed a moment to process what I’d said.

"Again?" Lexy asked, her voice dropping into a flat, disbelieving register. "All by yourself?"

"Yes," I said, shifting my phone to my other ear while I smoothed down the back of the dark violet-black dress. The tiny metallic stones stitched into the bodice caught the warm vanity light, glittering like little needles, and for a moment I simply watched myself shimmer in the mirror, a stranger wearing my skin.

I barely recognized her... the woman who dared to leave the house alone, who dared to want something just for herself.

Lexy let out a heavy, dramatic sigh that sounded like a tire losing air. "Elena, babes. Honey. My sweet, traumatized friend. Do you remember the last time we went there? It was literally a week ago! Do you remember how drunk and utterly wasted you were? I practically had to drag your limp, silk-wrapped body into a yellow cab while you babbled to the driver about cool rings and expensive scotch! I had to carry you up my apartment stairs like a sack of damp laundry!"

I couldn’t help the small, breathless chuckle that bubbled up in my throat, breaking through the tight, painful knot in my chest. "Mom... I promise not to get drunk."

Lexy snorted, a sharp, unrefined sound. "You’re insane. You’re actually losing your mind."

"I know," I admitted, staring at my reflection - the sharp black eyeliner, the dark berry lips, the sheer absurdity of Mrs. Graham Sinclair getting ready to slip out the back of a multi-million-dollar estate in five-inch suede heels. Somewhere beneath the makeup, I could still see the girl I used to be, before the needles and the tears and the years of swallowing my own voice.

Sometimes I wondered if that girl was still in there at all, or if she’d dissolved somewhere between the fertility clinics and the silent dinners. "I know, Lex. But I promise I won’t drink too much. But... well, if I do get drunk and end up in someone else’s booth again..."

"You are crazy, you know that, right?" Lexy interrupted, though there was a soft, affectionate thread under her scolding tone. "Utterly, certifiably out of your tree."

"Yes," I murmured, my thumb tracing the sharp, cold leather edge of my clutch. "I do."

"Okay," Lexy sighed softly, the teasing edge melting into something gentler. "Look. Be safe. Keep your phone in your hand, not in your bag. And call me the second you need me. I don’t care if I’m holding three thousand dollars worth of Italian silk, I will drop the shears and drive over as fast as I can. Got it?"

"Thank you, Lex." My voice cracked slightly on the words, gratitude and grief tangled together in a way I didn’t have the strength to untangle. She had no idea how much those small promises meant, how they felt like the only solid ground left under my feet.

"You’re welcome," she said quietly. "Now go. Go breathe, go live your life. Trust me, Elena... that man isn’t worth it. He is not worth a single drop of your tears at all."

"I know," I whispered, the words catching slightly in my raw throat, even though some stubborn, wounded part of me wasn’t sure I believed it yet.

"Call me later. Bye."

"Bye."

The line clicked dead. I lowered the phone, taking one last deep breath in the quiet room. I looked at myself in the mirror, pulled my spine as straight as it would go, and unlocked the bedroom door.

I moved softly down the carpeted hallway of the west wing, holding my heels in one hand and my clutch in the other. I didn’t want the sharp clack of suede pumps alerting the entire household before I even hit the landing. Every shadow along the hallway felt like it was watching me, waiting to report back to someone.

The portraits of Sinclair ancestors seemed to follow me with their painted eyes, silent witnesses to a marriage none of them would have approved of, and none of them could save me from.

When I reached the top of the grand staircase, I peered down into the high-ceilinged foyer. Lillian was gone... ikely retired to my matrimonial room to pamper her precious, golden belly. But Graham and his mother were still down there, their voices low murmurs I couldn’t quite decipher from this distance.

Matilda was sitting on the edge of the velvet armchair, nursing her tea like a hawk watching a fence line. Graham was pacing the Persian rug near the front doors, his hands shoved deep into his trousers pockets, his shoulders hunched in a tight, angry line. Even from here, I could feel the tension radiating off him, thick enough to taste. Some old, tired part of me almost turned back toward the bedroom rather than face it, but I forced my feet forward instead.

I reached the bottom step, set my heels onto the marble floor, and stepped into them, the sound ringing out sharp and clear.

Clack.

Graham’s head snapped up instantly. His eyes swept over me... taking in the bare shoulders, the dark berry lips, the glittering dress hugging my waist and stopping dangerously high on my thighs, and his face instantly hardened into something dark and ugly.

He closed the distance between us in three long, predatory strides, stopping right at the edge of the rug, blocking my path to the heavy brass front door.

"Where do you think you are going again tonight?" he demanded, his voice dropping into that quiet, grating rasp he used when he was trying to exert absolute authority.

"It’s none of your business," I said, not slowing my pace as I moved to walk past his right shoulder.

Graham stepped sideways, broad shoulders completely cutting off my exit. "If you think I’m going to let you go out of this house, dressed like this at this fucking time, then you must be joking."

I stopped dead in my tracks. A short, incredulous laugh burst out of my mouth, sharp and bitter. "You ain’t serious right now, right?"

"I am very serious," Graham snarled, stepping an inch closer, his chest almost touching mine. The dark shadow of stubble along his jawline made his sneer look brutal. "I am not letting you leave this house, Elena. Look at yourself! You are my wife, not some cheap whore!"

My whole body went completely, terrifyingly stiff.

Cheap whore.

The words hung in the air between us, heavy, toxic, and dripping with pure, unadulterated contempt. Five years of needles. Five years of hormone tears. Five years of quiet obedience. Every sacrifice I’d made for this marriage rose up in my throat at once, threatening to choke me.

I thought of every appointment I’d gone to alone, every injection I’d given myself in a bathroom stall while he worked late, every silent dinner where I’d swallowed my hurt along with my food.

My right hand reacted before my brain even processed the impulse.

SNAP.

The crack of my open palm striking his right cheek rang through the high ceilings like a gunshot. The sheer force of the blow jerked his head sideways, his mouth snapping shut, his skin instantly flushing a dark, furious red where my hand hit.

He stumbled back a half-step, his hand flying up to cover his jaw, his dark eyes wide with shock.

I didn’t back down. I took a sharp step forward, crowding into his space, my breathing fast and furious, my hands shaking with raw, unvarnished rage.

"How dare you?" I spat, my voice vibrating with five years of stored-up hatred. "How dare you use that word with me?!"

"Elena..." Graham gritted out, his jaw working as he stared down at me.

"If I am a whore for putting on a dress and walking out of my own house," I yelled, stepping closer until my chest almost brushed his jacket, "then what the hell is the woman sleeping in our room, Graham?! Our fucking room! What do you call the woman who spent two years sneaking through side gates to lie on her back for another woman’s husband?!"

Behind him, Matilda gasped loudly, dropping her bone-china saucer onto the glass table with a deafening CLINK. "Graham! Are you going to let her..."

"Don’t start with me now, Matilda!" I roared over my shoulder, not taking my blazing eyes off her son for a single second.

Graham stood there, his jaw locked tight, the red imprint of my fingers burning against his pale skin. He reached out, his thumb digging into my upper arm, trying to anchor me. "Elena, stop this madness right now. You are out of control..."

"I am perfectly in control!" I ripped my arm out of his grasp so violently my elbow slammed into the wood paneling behind us. "And if you must know where I am going, Graham... I am going to meet my boyfriends!"

Graham’s face drained of all color. "What did you just say?"

"You heard me!" I shouted, taking two paces back toward the heavy front door, grabbing the cold brass handle with my bare hand. I turned back to glare at him, my dark berry lips curved into a sharp, lethal sneer. "Don’t you ever try this nonsense with me again! Do you understand me?! Never again!"

Without waiting for his response, I pulled the heavy door open, stepped out into the cool night air, and slammed it shut behind me with a thunderous BANG that shook the porch lights.

I practically ran down the stone steps, my five-inch suede heels clicking frantically against the driveway. I made it to my sedan, yanked the driver’s door open, threw myself into the leather seat, and slammed the door shut.

My hands hit the steering wheel, my fingers gripping the leather so hard my knuckles turned stark white. I leaned my forehead straight against the center of the wheel, my chest heaving, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. For a moment I simply sat there, letting the tremors run through my arms, half expecting the front door to burst open behind me.

Silence filled the car. Just the quiet, rhythmic sound of my own harsh breathing.

A second passed. Then two. Then three.

I lifted my head slowly, staring blindly at the dark dashboard in front of me. The adrenaline that had just propelled me through the foyer began to drain away, leaving behind a cold, absurd, utterly ridiculous realization.

I blinked once. Twice.

"Why the hell did I lie about that?" I whispered out loud to the empty windshield, my voice sounding absurdly small in the quiet cabin.

I threw my hands up off the wheel, staring at my bare palms in complete, utter exasperation.

"Boyfriends?!" I groaned, slapping my forehead directly against the leather wheel with a dull thud. "Plural?! Boyfriends?! I don’t even have a single boyfriend! I don’t even have a guy’s phone number in my contacts who isn’t my tailor or my accountant!"

I slumped back against the headrest, staring up at the dark fabric of the car roof, a hysterical, breathless laugh bubbling up out of my chest despite the lingering sting of tears in my eyes. It was the kind of laugh that lived right on the edge of tears, the kind that came from somewhere too raw and too tired to hold back any longer.

"Great, Elena. Brilliant strategy. Now he thinks you’re running a whole harem downtown, and you’re literally going to sit at a bar alone drinking overpriced tonic water because you promised Lexy you wouldn’t get wasted."

I shook my head, turning the key in the ignition. The engine roared to life, casting bright headlights across the dark wrought-iron gates of the estate. Somewhere behind me, in that enormous house full of cold marble and colder people, Graham was probably still standing frozen in the foyer, and the thought gave me a small, vicious flicker of satisfaction... the first genuine pleasure I’d felt in longer than I cared to admit.

"Boyfriends," I muttered under my breath, throwing the car into reverse and stepping on the gas. "You absolute idiot."