SARAH It’s refreshing, to say the least. I mean, the last time I laughed this hard was in Mykonos, with them. The thought hits me with a path of guilt. Well, guilt and another feeling I recognize too well: longing. I miss them, and I know we agreed to keep our distance till I sorted myself out, but I still missed them so much. They were the first people I wanted to call after my press conference. I needed to tell them it was all over, and I was all theirs now. I actually don’t know why I didn’t. Julian is good company though, I’ll give him that. Apparently, he was impressed by how well I held my own at the press conference, despite the dangerous questions that were thrown at me. I was quite surprised when he asked me out to dinner, but he totally won me over when he said it was to celebrate my divorce. Leaving Aaron was definitely worth a celebration. Why am I laughing so hard? You might ask. Well, it’s because of the “HAPPY DIVORCE” chocolate buttercream seated on the table in front of me. “You know,” I start to speak as my laughter quenches in my throat. I’m looking straight into Julian’s eyes, and his deep blue orbs brighten as he smiles at me. “When you said you had a surprise for me, I didn’t think it’ll be this.” I catch him looking at me again, almost like he’s looking through me. His eyes don’t wander, they just…stay, not without making a casual drop to my lips where they linger for three long seconds. “Do I have something on my lip?” I ask, reaching for my bottom lip. He blinks immediately, like he’s been rescued from a spell. Julian pulls away and clears his throat. “You should take a picture,” he says. “Keep the moment forever.” I lick the buttercream off my left fingers, nodding in agreement. “Hmmm. Right.” It doesn’t take me much to turn to the left and reach for my bag, but something–and I’m not quite sure what it is–makes me stop and look up. I feel them before I see them. Jaxon, Malachi, and Ronan, all seated around a table. Mine and theirs are the only two tables occupied in the restaurant. That’s normal, considering the fact that it has to be booked ahead of time. I literally watched Julian call in three favours to get this table. Does it mean they did the same for the redhead bimbo seated beside Ronan, reaching for his hand like a thirsty tramp? And what does she think she’s wearing with her tits all out in his face like that? I want to look away without memorizing the curve of the forced smile on Malachi’s face, or the hard lines of Jaxon’s chiseled jaw, or the muscles on Ronan’s hand that’s placed on the table as he taps his right fingers continuously–a gesture I know he only does when he’s impatient, bored, or both–but it’s impossible to. We promised to wait for each other, is this their idea of waiting? Less than twenty-four hours, and they’ve already found my replacement. The bitterness is sharp on my tongue. Cold fingers reach for my right cheek, snapping me out of my reverie. “Hey,” Julian’s voice is soft as he calls. “Eyes on me.” Embarrassed, I tear my eyes away from the brothers and plaster a smile on my face as I lock eyes with Julian. “I’m sorry. I got carried away.” There’s a shadow of a smile on his face as he glances at their table. “You shouldn’t be surprised. They’re billionaires, it’s only natural that they use women for sport. This place belongs to them. They can bring whoever they want, whenever they want.” My face twists into a frown. Did he know that? Is that why he insisted we come here even though he was told it would be closed? Wait a minute. Had they closed it so they could spend time with her? My gaze begins to shift towards them, but I catch myself midway. Don’t look, Sarah. Don’t. “Not that you were used, of course.” I arch my left brow. What is he trying to overcompensate for? Julian shifts in his seat and clears his throat more times than normal. If I don’t know better–which I’m not certain I do, at this point–I would think he is trying to call attention to himself. To us. “What I’m saying is, they have a kink, fetish, whatever you wish to call it. One that’s made it to the tabloids a couple of times.” “Gossip tabloids.” I add in defense. The words leave my lips so quickly, he’s stunned. Frankly, so am I. “Whatever,” he scoffs and waves it away. “But only a slut would agree to something like that.” I blink so hard I almost give myself a whiplash. Did he seriously just call me a slut? “Excuse me?” Julian’s eyes widen. “I mean, besides you, of course. I’m not saying you’re a slut. I would never say you’re a slut…” You know what? I’ve heard enough. “I’m going to use the bathroom.” With that, I’m up on my feet, all but sprinting towards the bathroom door. I need to be away from them. All of them. Seriously, what’s wrong with men these days? Rushing into the ladies room, I plant myself in front of the mirror, my left hand turns the faucet. I place my fingers underneath the running water, hoping it’ll calm the molten magma building in my stomach. If I can, stop it from erupting all together. I need to be calm. It’s the only thing that’s going to stop me from walking over to their table and giving them a piece of my mind. Or two pieces. When I look up at the mirror, my bones turn rigid at my reflection. Black streaks trail down my cheeks like paint. “Am I fucking crying?” I turn the tap off and hiss, looking away from the mirror to find a paper towel, tissue, anything to get rid of the atrocity on my face. Where is it? Where do they keep their bloody paper towels for fuck’s sake? I finally find one in the fourth toilet, and I tear out a piece to wipe my eyes. I hear the main door close, but I stand still. Perhaps a staff member. Definitely. I would hate to think I have to share the same space with Ronan’s bimbo. Why am I even mad at her? She didn’t do anything to me. They’re the ones I should be mad at. “Are you crying, kitten?” A very familiar voice cuts through the noise in my head, and everything else just…stops. Even my lungs forget what they’re supposed to do: breathe! Damn it.