The Ex 3: In Which She Goes Green (Not Environmentally)

No. How did this happen?

“Ohmygawd, Francesca! Congratulations!” Nancy screeched, clapping her hands together.

I held onto her big bouquet of forget-me-nots and wished I could toss the sickeningly fragrant blooms onto the ground and stomp on them with my purple stiletto heel. Nancy winked at me and the rest of her bridesmaids, along with her new husband Harvey's gang, jokingly patted me on my back and gave me their best wishes. They were oblivious to the murderous thoughts swirling about in my head.

Why did I jump? I asked myself, staring at the flowers as if they were a handful of vipers.

“I guess it's your wedding we'll be planning next,” Nancy's sister, Vicky, chimed in with a big smile on her face.

God forbid, I nearly said aloud. Instead, I nodded and forced a laugh that sounded more strangled than anything. Wedding. Marriage. Husband. I felt nauseous.

“That was quite a...leap.” Harvey Garamond's best man, Alain Marceau, was grinning as he gave me a congratulatory pat on the back. “It's almost as if you meant to catch the bouquet, and we both know you want nothing to do with marriage.”

“Oh, hha,” I muttered, scowling at him. I'd made the mistake of getting extremely drunk at the wedding rehearsal the previous night, confessing my true feelings about marriage to Alain, who'd sat beside me throughout the night. Now, standing in the spacious conference room of the only swanky hotel Parishville possessed, the Hotel Norton, I was heavily regretting my loose lips.

“You jumped accidentally, correct?” Alain went on, bursting into a fit of laughter at the murderous look on my face. “I wonder, how does that work, Francesca?

I hit him with the flowers, petals scattering to the marble floor. “I need a drink.”

“Shall we?” He offered his arm and I took it.

There were probably worse men I could've been paired with. Alain really was a sweetheart and, since he was the groom's best friend and Nancy was mine, we were tasked with best-man-and-maid-of-honour duties. He was a thirty-something wine connoisseur and claimed to have drunk from the fountain of youth long ago. For sure, he could've passed for a six-foot teen, what with his baby face and outrageous sense of humour. Months of hanging out with our friends as a group meant I could consider him more than an acquaintance.

“So you never really told me why the idea of walking down the aisle gives you the shakes,” Alain said in his heavily-accented voice, handing me a glass of sparkling wine. He took a small sip of his. “Every woman in Parishville dreams of wearing a virgin-white dress, you know.”

I shrugged, downing my drink in one gulp. “I was born in Barcelona.”

“So you say.” He gave me a wink. “Would you look at that?” He pointed at the newlywed's table.

Nancy was perched on Harvey's lap, attempting to kiss him for the camera. Laughing, he held her at arm's length, pretending not to want to. They looked incredibly happy together and the scene's cuteness factor was equivalent to that of a litter of kittens rolling about on the carpet with balls of yarn in their paws. I was going to puke.

I quickly returned my attention to Alain. “I love Nance and Harv but they'll be at each other's throats before you can say honeymoon.”

Alain threw his blonde head back and laughed. “Is that so? One might think you've been married before.”

I averted my eyes. “Funny.”
“In the short time I've known you, Francesca, I've discovered that there's more to you than meets the eye,” he said soberly. I could feel his eyes on me and steadfastly kept my gaze on the bubbles in my glass. “Colin is a very lucky man,” he continued.

“Huh.” I snorted. “So lucky he can't be bothered to pull himself away from eighteenth century Russia.” I was still a little sore that he couldn't drag himself away from marking history prep to make an appearance at my best friend's wedding.

“Come on, chérie. It's work. Magda was supposed to show up, too, but her sister's in town for the day.” He was referring to his wife, of course. Everyone in town knew her as Mad Magda. She was a rugby player in her youth, almost as good as any Australian, although she never played pro, obviously. She was a dance teacher, of all things. “It's not a problem.”

“I don't really care if he showed up or not.” And that was the sad truth. I let out an exasperated sigh. “It's the excuse he gave me. Colin's borderline antisocial. If I told him we'd gotten free Aerosmith tickets in the mail, he'd ask if we could watch them live on TV instead. Who passes up free concert tickets? Colin Hanlon, that's who.”

“Hmmm...or perhaps he just wants to be alone with you,” Alain suggested. “Goodness, Francesca, anyone can see the man's smitten by you.”

I blushed. Was Colin going around town with his heart on his sleeve? I didn't want his quiet demonstrations of love to be public knowledge and fodder for gossip. Colin was not the love of my life but apparently I was his.

“I love this song,” I commented, swiftly changing the subject. I breathed a sigh of relief whe Alain cocked his head to listen, evidently dropping the subject of my relationship. The band was just starting up, playing their rendition of Coldplay's Paradise while Nancy and Harvey began a slow dance. Slowly, other couples trickled onto the dance floor.

“Care to dance?” Alain asked me.

I shook my head. “I have two left feet,” I lied.

He laughed at that. “Speaking of two left feet...” He pointed at a couple in the crowd and I squinted at them. “You can't be worse than that, chérie.”

The woman wore an ostentatious red salsa dress and, from what I could see, her breasts were almost oozing out of the tight affair. Despite the sensual dress, her dancing was anything but sensual. It looked like she was dancing on hot coal. Her partner, on the other hand, moved with the grace of a man who'd had his fair share of clumsy women and was used to dancing well enough for the both of them. They certainly hadn't been at the church. I would've remembered Miss Red Dress.

“That looks like Kouriakis,” Alain remarked thoughtfully. “Imagine that. I didn't know he was acquainted with Harvey or Nancy.”

I stiffened, now really getting a good look at the graceful man. Sure enough, it was Konstantin. My grip on the stem of my glass was tight enough to warrant some worry. The woman he was dancing with... Had he fúcked her? Was he fúcking her?

It doesn't matter. It shouldn't matter. He's from my past. He's my ex, I told myself.

“I've never really spoken to him. Seen him a few times about town but that's it.” Alain was oblivious to my sudden silence. “I hear he's a –”

“I'd like that dance now, Alain.”

“But I thought –”

“Al, shut up and dance with me.” I grabbed his hand and led him into the fray.

How stupid I was! I chided myself, hating the way I was feeling right then. What a gullible fool!
“Your heart is racing, Francesca.” Alain and I were pressed up against each other, swaying slowly. “Shall I be conceited and presume it's because of me?”

I forced out a laugh. “Yes, Alain. You may.”

“You're not such a bad dancer, you know. One could say that you might've been lying about your...two left feet.”

Why did Alain have to be so fúcking perceptive?

“I'm just following your lead.”

The song changed to an even slower number and I became uncomfortable with how close we were, how intimate it was. Alain was a gentleman, yes, but even gentlemen couldn't control action in the pants department. Before I could say anything, a voice I certainly didn't want to hear just right then spoke up.

“May I cut in?” asked Konstantin.

I raised my head to mouth a silent protest to Alain but he flashed Konstantin a megawatt grin as if they were old high school chums.

“Of course. She's all yours.” He stepped away, practically handing me over to Konstantin like a lamb to the slaughter.

“I don't want to dance with you,” I snapped once Alain had strolled away.

Ignoring me, Konstantin pulled me to him, his arm an iron belt around my waist. “Who is that man?”

“Why are you here?” I fumed. Despite my anger, my body was singing with joy. His touch took me back to the elevator the previous week. To what we'd done. To what he'd done to me...

“Garamond's a business acquaintance,” he replied flippantly, his thumb lightly stroking circles in the small of my back.

Harvey was a real estate broker and Konstantin was heavily into land so that was quite plausible. A thought suddenly occurred to me.

Panicking, I hissed, “Please don't mention our marriage. They don't know and I don't want them to.”

Konstantin looked down at me long and hard. “I'm wounded, Frankie. Is the memory of our marriage an ugly secret you'd like to keep buried forever?”

“It is,” I said severely, “and I'd like to keep it that way.”

He twirled me around so that my back was pressed against his front. His nose was in my hair. “And I would like to be alone with you. We can't all have what we want.”

I wrenched myself away from him, spinning around to fix him with a glare. “And that slut you brought with you? Isn't she what you want right now?”

His mouth became a thin line.

“I'm so sorry, Kon, but I can't do this again. I can't be your second choice.”

I turned on my heel and flounced off, quickly picking my way through people and marching out the room. If I thought I was fast, Konstantin was faster. He caught up to me within seconds, his face like thunder.

“Can't be my second choice? So you still want me, then?” he boomed, clamping a hand around my upper arm. “If you recall, Frankie, you divorced me on the grounds of infidelity. What do you call what happened between us the other week? I'm sure Colin wouldn't be too thrilled, you hypocrite.”

“I don't want you, bastard!” I spat, trying to get away.

“Or are there a different set of rules for you?” Kon's steel-grey eyes hardened. “Seeing as we're not married, who I bring along as a date shouldn't concern you. After all, you're dating someone else and have made it crystal clear that you want nothing to do with me romantically.” He released my arm. “And after the way I fúcked you last week, I should hope you've gotten me out your system.”

He was right. He was absolutely right.

“Then I wish you nothing but happiness.” My voice was surprisingly calm.

Konstantin arched a brow. “Is that so?”

I tilted my head, determined. “No. I hope your heart – if you do have one – gets broken and smashed into a million irretrievable pieces. I hope you know how I felt.” I flashed him a small smile. “Goodbye, Konstantin Kouriakis.”

***

“Colin?”

He looked away from the TV, shifting slightly in his seat on his worn couch. “How'd you get all the way over there, sweetheart?”

I was standing before his heater, which was foolishly placed by the door. “I was cold.” No, it's easier to escape if I'm right beside the front door.

Colin turned down the volume of his documentary and gave me his full attention. “Is everything all right?”

I'd had a week to stew over this, a week to let the twinge of guilt grow to something bigger.

“I feel so awful lying to you so I have to tell you what happened...today,” I blurted out, nervously cracking her knuckles as I stared at him from across the living room. In my opinion, it was safer there.

Colin's bright blue eyes danced. He probably thought I was about to bore him with details of the wedding that day. “What is it, sweetheart?”

I took a deep breath. “I…I bumped into my ex-husband in the elevator the other week.” After considering how I should tell Colin about Konstantin, my conscience and I decided that it would be far better to lie about when the betrayal had happened. Forgiveness was more likely if I'd cheated recently. If he found out that I'd taken over a week to confess, he'd despise me even more.

A tiny white lie in a sea full of truth, Frankie. That's what you have to do.

“And?”

I exhaled. “And we had sex. In the elevator.”

There was an interminable silence – a silence that threatened to kill me with guilt like I'd never felt before – until Colin smiled and said gently, “We'll work through this, honey. Don't worry.” He beckoned me towards him.

“Work through this?” I spluttered in disbelief. I'd expected anger, disappointment but this? Don't worry? “How? How can we, when all I want is for him to do it again? And again, and again, and again, and…” I trailed off, sighing with pity when Colin's face fell.

It pained me to see Colin's hurt expression, but then again, it pained me to know that Konstantin had made me climax in that elevator more times than Colin had – the few times I'd let him near me – in our whole relationship.

“Who is he?” Colin's voice was soft.

“It doesn't matter,” I replied, shaking my head. If Konstantin and Colin got in the same room together... I wouldn't be responsible for Colin's death.

But Colin astonished me by jumping to his feet. “Doesn't matter? It matters to me, Francesca! It matters a shitload to me!”

I gaped at him. Colin never cursed.

“Are you...going to dump me?” I secretly wished he would.

After a long while, he shook his head. “No. I'm going to fix this.” He pushed past me on his way out the living room.

“Colin, where are you going?” I called out, and was answered by the sound of the front door slamming beside me.

Chapter end