Even as I say it, I know it’s ridiculous. Archie will do whatever the hell he wants, and there’s nothing I can say or do to change it. I might be his boss, but he’s a man of his own wills and wants. It’s one of the things I love about him . . . usually.

Before Abi can answer, the bells jingle, signaling a customer up front. She turns to go help them, but a voice calls out. “Violet, where are you, baby?”

Abigail and I meet eyes, both of us with pinched brows and animated horror marring our faces.

“What the fuck?” I whisper as I go out front to see . . .

Colin.

He’s wearing his usual workday suit, spit-shined shoes, and slicked back hair. He looks . . . boring.

“Oh, there you are, Vi. I saw your car on the street and knew it was the sign I was looking for.” He smiles like any of that made sense.

“What are you doing here, Colin?” I say, not mad, exactly, more just confused with what’s going on.

Abi is flailing her arms wide, waving him off. “No way, mister. You can spin on your thumb and get the hell out of my store.”

“I wanted to talk,” Colin says to me, ignoring Abi. “I . . . I wanted to say I’m sorry, and I’ve been thinking. I was wrong.”

Unable to deal with Abi’s act, which had evolved into something like a manic dance at this point, I step around her. “You said you wanted it to end, Colin. So it’s over. I haven’t looked back”

“I overreacted!” Colin says, his voice touched with anger. “You were pressuring me, neutering me half the time, and—”

“Neutering?” I scoff, trying not to laugh. Neutering is the last thing I want from a husband, especially after the way Ross fucked me rough and hard. Nope, give me a fully functioning set of balls, thank you very much. But those balls have to come with respect. “Colin, I never neutered you. I wanted you to be you and for me to be everything you could ever want in a woman. In fact, I still hope you find someone and have a good life. But as for you and me . . . it’s over.”

“Woman, you don’t tell me when things are over!” Colin thunders, his entitled brattiness at having his toy taken away making him have what equates to a grown-man temper tantrum. But newsflash, I’m not a toy. And also, what did I ever see in him? Was he always this . . . childishly annoying?

“Except that I just did. As much as I hate to say it, you were right. We weren’t meant for each other—”

He interrupts me, a sneer twisting his lips. “So I’ve seen in the papers. You think you’re suddenly meant for Ross Andrews? I’m sure you do. You think you’re marrying better, don’t you? Hooked you a sucker with a bigger bank account than mine. But he’ll see you for the gold-digging whore you are.”

Of course, he’d think this is about money and status, as if those are the only reasons to get married. It’s like he thinks I’m some shiny toy. He doesn’t want me, but he damn sure doesn’t want anyone else to have me either.

Fighting hard for the high road, I say neutrally, “For so many reasons, I’m happier without you. Just leave.”

I turn my back on him, walking through the doorway to the back. As I pass her, Abi is glaring at Colin, shooting daggers with her eyes that could accurately pin a bug to the wall. “You heard her. Get out.”

She puts her arm around me, ushering me into the depths of the workroom. A moment later, I hear the jingle of the bells again.

“He’s gone,” Abi says, rubbing my back. “What the hell was that?”

I shake my head. “No idea. I haven’t heard a single word from him since the coffee shop, and now this.”

“What a douche canoe! No offense, but how did you ever love him? Oh, God, how did you fuck him? Please say it was missionary with the lights out. Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am is the only way I think a woman could handle a guy like that. Just get it over with.”

Her outrageousness helps dry up the tears trailing down my face. I’m not sad, not even mad at Colin. It’s just ridiculous, and I feel stupid for wasting my time with him, blind for not seeing who he really is. And getting called a gold-digging whore is bound to do a number on even Lizzo-sized self-confidence.

“Is everyone saying I’m a gold-digger? I know that one article did, but is that what everyone thinks?” I ask Abi, not sure if I want her to tell me the truth.

“Who cares what they say?” she responds, and I know she’s giving me the kindness of not saying out loud what the grapevine is calling me. ‘Gold-digging whore’ is probably the kindest of it.

“I’m scared, Abs,” I confide. “I’m scared everyone’s going to find out this is all fake and it’s all going to fall apart in flames of glory. I’ll be the laughingstock of the city, and Ross will be a pariah, any hopes he has of improving his reputation at work dashed by our secret arrangement.”

There’s so much more to this now, but on the surface, that’s my fear. Fear of being found out. Because the rest of this, the emotional questions playing below that surface, are too much to face right now. I can’t consider that I might be a fool in front of Ross . . . again. And this time, it would be a devastating blow I might never recover from.

Because I’ve fallen for him. Slowly, over years, and then fast, all at once. But I have.