Intoxicating!. Kathleen O'Reilly
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engagement.
Daniel followed her into the house and headed for the bedroom where his things were. The unused bedroom.
After Catherine called the cab, she stood over the kitchen counter. Her hands gripped the cool granite. Some part of her didn’t want this to end, but what choice did she have? Eventually, she spotted a bottle of water, helpful for his train ride back to the city, and her genetically propagated social skills came to the rescue.
With the travel refreshment in hand, she went to the bedroom. He didn’t notice her at first because he was engrossed in something entirely new and different—the heavy gold band sitting on top of his duffel bag.
A wedding ring.
Okay, that explained it. Catherine ignored the shooting pains radiating up from her gut to somewhere near her heart. She did hand him the bottle of water. In times of crisis, always best to remember one’s social skills.
She tried to not look at the small circle of gold. However, like the Mona Lisa, it drew your eye like a magnet.
A wedding ring.
Not quite what she had imagined.
“It’s not what you think,” he said, easily reading her mind. Catherine didn’t have the patience to hear excuses, not when she suddenly understood why he hadn’t cared if she talked much.
Catherine Montefiore, walking vagina. That was her.
“Don’t say anything. It’s better that way. I’ll think more highly of you if you don’t try and wangle your way out of this.”
Soullessly, he stared at her, and again she felt it, that complete isolation of his, but now it made more sense. It took a cold man to do what he did.
He nodded curtly. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I should have told you up front.”
“You should have,” she replied tightly. Thankfully, she heard a car horn. “What amazing timing. Taxi’s here.”
He donned his ring, slung the duffel over his shoulder and gave her one last look. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but I liked being with you. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt like that. It felt good. You should know that.”
Catherine fisted her hands behind her back, her mouth scrunched together. She didn’t want to yell. Not yet. Not until he was gone. What an easy mark. For that she hated herself nearly as much as she hated him.
“You’re right. I don’t want to hear that,” she told him, waiting until he walked out the door and left.
After she heard the rev of the taxi pulling away, Catherine went to take a shower. A long shower because right then she needed nothing more than to get clean.
Sadly, she knew the shower wasn’t going to help.
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