This is not the man I left this morning.
This is not the man who texted me this morning saying how he wished he didn’t have to go into work.
And this is not the man I planned on telling I love him.
“Huxley,” I whisper. “What’s . . . what’s going on?”
He stuffs his phone in his pants pocket, and I watch as the muscle in his jaw tenses as his eyes narrow on me.
“What did you say to her?”
“Say to who?” I ask, completely confused. “Say to Kelsey?”
Oh God, she didn’t tell him anything we talked about, did she?
No, she’d never say anything.
“No, to Ellie.”
“To Ellie?” I feel my face contort with complete confusion. What on earth is he talking about?
Growling, he says, “Yes, Lottie. What the fuck did you say to Ellie?” His voice sounds like venom, lashing out at me, spitting in my direction.
This was not what I was expecting when Huxley came home. Honestly, if he hadn’t been looking down at his phone when I saw him, I would’ve leapt into his arms, so excited to see him. But the anger vibrating off him, the hostility . . . I have no idea what’s happening.
“I . . . I don’t know,” I answer, my voice stumbling with nerves.
“You must have said something,” he yells, pushing past me while gripping the back of his head. “Because Dave knows.”
Dave knows . . .
“As in, he knows about us?” I ask.
“Yeah, he fucking knows, and guess who told him? Ellie. So, tell me what the fuck you said to her, because whatever it was, I need to know so I can assess damage control.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Huxley. I didn’t say anything to her about us.”
“Don’t fucking bullshit me, Lottie,” he yells. His eyes are devoid of any loving tenderness toward me. They’re empty, as if . . . as if he’s already written me off. “You’re the only one who’s been alone with Ellie. You’re the one who hated me so much at the beginning of all of this, so I wouldn’t put it past you to say something to her in confidence.”
Wait . . .
Wait a goddamn second.
Is he actually accusing me of telling Ellie our entire engagement is a hoax? He can’t possibly be doing that.
But when I look him in the eyes, take in his heavy breaths, the steeliness of his jaw, the emptiness of his eyes . . . I see that’s exactly what he’s doing.
“You think I said something to Ellie?” I ask, just needing to confirm his assumption.
“Yes,” he says in an exasperated tone. “Dave is telling people about our fake engagement, ruining my reputation, and I want to know what you told Ellie so I can see how fucked I really am.”
Yup, he’s blaming me.
He thinks I’d go behind his back. He thinks I’d so easily betray him like that.
After all of those conversations about the contract, after all those threats, he really believes I wouldn’t care, that I’d say something anyway.
Not only does that make me incredibly angry, but . . . a wave of emotion clogs my throat, because that breaks my heart. That he’d think so lowly of me.
Unable to muster up the courage to have this conversation with him, I turn on my heels and walk away. The early signs of a panic attack start to surface as my breath shortens and my chest tightens.
I can’t believe that he thinks I’d say something. That he doesn’t trust me.
I stalk up the stairs.
I hear him call out, “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
I don’t stop, I don’t even stumble as my feet move faster than my body.
Instead, I propel myself forward, and when I reach my room, I slam my door and reach behind my back for the zipper of my dress. I struggle to reach it for a few seconds, and just as I grab it and pull down, unzipping my dress, the door to my bedroom flings open.
“Are you going to answer me?” Huxley asks as I step out of the dress and heels, leaving them on the floor.
I turn to the closet and throw on a pair of jean shorts and the only simple T-shirt in there, which is the Fleetwood Mac shirt he got me. It’ll have to do. I slip on a pair of my sandals and grab my phone from my nightstand. I’m about to storm past him when he blocks the door.
“Lottie, I need to fucking know.”
“Why do you need to know?” I ask him. “It seems to me as though you’ve already made up your mind.”
“Are you saying you didn’t say anything?”