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CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER THREE

Olivia stared at Matt in disbelief.

What was he talking about? Was this a cruel practical joke?

She dismissed the thought instantly. Matt wasn’t that kind of person. Then again, she hadn’t believed he was the kind of person to invite her to dinner at a fancy restaurant and break up with her before the wine had even arrived.

“But—why?” she asked. “Matt, why are you doing this? We’ve been happy together. Well, I’ve been happy. I know we haven’t seen each other as much as we could have, but that’s because we’ve both been so busy.”

He nodded approvingly as if she’d just hit the nail on the head.

“Exactly, Liv. That’s exactly the problem. You’ve summarized it. We’re both so busy. We don’t see each other more than one or two nights a week.” He leaned forward and spoke in a quiet, confidential tone. “More than that, we’re different people. I’m a highly organized person. It’s difficult living with someone as disorganized as you. You never put the lid back on the toothpaste, and last week, when I opened my briefcase at a meeting, a pair of your panties fell out. It was extremely embarrassing for me. There were twenty international investors there, and having a pink lacy undergarment with the slogan ‘Wish You Were Here’ land on the boardroom table negatively affected the professional impression I was hoping to make, and which our firm expects.”

Olivia thought she heard a stifled giggle. Glancing around, she saw that their conversation had attracted the attention of the three women at the neighboring table, who were now listening avidly.

“And why did that happen, Olivia?” Matt continued. “It is because you insist on taking them off and throwing them onto the bedroom floor, instead of putting them in the laundry basket. This time, a pair landed inside my briefcase. It could have been disastrous for my career. That’s just one example. You haven’t been supportive.”

Olivia’s mouth fell open. What was he talking about? She’d supported him all the way.

“When we moved in together, I cleared out the spare bedroom so that you could have a study, even though you never used it,” she said, outraged now. “I repainted the master bedroom in white because you asked me to. I cleared out my cupboards to make space for all your jackets and shirts and shoes. I even gave away my beautiful bookcase so that your massive flat-screen TV could fit in the family room.”

Her furniture and her bed had stayed. Matt had said he would sell his. Or, wait. As Olivia was remembering now, he’d said he would give them to Leigh, his PA, as she’d broken up with her boyfriend and was moving into her own place.

Olivia frowned with sudden suspicion. Before she could say anything, Matt continued as if he hadn’t heard her at all.

“Like I said, I’ve been reviewing my life decisions. And Liv, I feel that we want such different things. Yes, you’ve been happy, but I want someone who’ll be there for me. Who can care for me, cook for me, sort out my life.”

“I cook for you!” The words came out louder than Olivia had intended.

The waiter, bringing the wine, did a double take as he approached and set the bottle down.

“May I open—” he began hesitantly, but Matt waved him away.

With righteous indignation, Olivia continued.

“Just last week, I made us spaghetti Bolognese. I got up at five a.m. to prepare the sauce and put it in the slow cooker. It smelled so delicious that even the neighbor complimented it when I arrived back from work. And what did you say, Matt? Do you remember what you said when I served it up? You said, ‘Well, I sure hope this won’t kill me.’ You thought that was so funny and I laughed too, but it was hurtful.”

“Keep it down, will you?” Matt said with a tight smile, but she could hear the stress in his words.

Olivia blinked. Keep it down? He was telling her not to shout, after delivering a bombshell that had upset her entire life?

“You are sometimes embarrassing.” Matt lowered his voice. “Talking loudly in restaurants is something I’ve pointed out to you in the past. The whole room doesn’t want to hear your funny stories.”

“Yes, we do,” Olivia heard one of the women at the next door table mutter.

“And did you use eyeshadow to conceal that run in your pantyhose? Aren’t you worried people might notice? You could easily have kept a spare pair in your purse, and avoided the problem altogether. That’s what an organized person would do.”

Olivia felt herself turn crimson.

“I didn’t notice that,” she heard another of the women say. This time, Matt looked around in surprise.

Olivia drew a deep breath.

“What made you think now was a good time to talk about this?” she asked.

“I’m flying out of the country tomorrow. It’s a last-minute arrangement. Short notice, I know.”

This conversation was becoming so surreal that for a moment, Olivia was certain she was dreaming all of this. She must be having a nightmare, because nothing was making sense.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to Bermuda for two weeks.” He didn’t meet her incredulous gaze as he spoke the words.

“For work?” Again, she saw Matt wince at the volume of her voice.

“It’s a work conference, yes.”

“Is Leigh going with you?”

The question was reflexive—she hadn’t had time to think it through—but she saw his reaction. For a moment, he looked horrified, as if she’d caught him out.

“You and Leigh? Conferences don’t last two weeks. This has nothing to do with work. Does it?”

“Please, keep it down,” Matt muttered. “Leigh is my PA. Nothing more. She’s much younger than me anyway. She’s turning thirty on Sunday.”

He stopped, clamping his lips together, but too late. Olivia pounced on the information he’d inadvertently disclosed.

“Turning thirty? That’s a big birthday. Her gift wouldn’t include a vacation to Bermuda, would it?”

Olivia heard a horrified gasp from the next table.

Guilt was written all over his face. Olivia felt appalled. Thirty-five-year-old Matt was only a year older than she was, and back when they had first started dating, she’d worried that he might look for someone younger. Although she’d known she could do nothing about that, she and her hairdresser had conspired to make sure he couldn’t possibly look for anyone blonder. Clearly, it hadn’t helped.

“You brought me out to this lovely restaurant and the first thing you do is break up with me?”

She felt shocked all over again by the callousness of his actions.

“You did it so that I wouldn’t make a fuss, didn’t you? You hoped that because this was being done in a fancy restaurant, you’d be able to walk away without me getting mad or causing a scene.”

Olivia jumped to her feet, glaring down at him.

“I am mad. I am furious. And I’m going to cause a scene. You’ve treated me appallingly. How dare you have an affair behind my back, and then try and make me feel inadequate, saying you need someone to take care of you and implying I didn’t do that. It’s the most manipulative thing I ever heard.”

“It’s unacceptable,” she heard one of the women from the next table say firmly. “You’re well rid of someone who cheats on you and insults your cooking and nitpicks your clothing decisions. Never mind the pantyhose problem, which none of us even noticed, I don’t think he mentioned your lovely dress. Talk about looking for the faults.”

“You’re obviously too good for him, and he feels threatened by you,” another of them supplied in helpful tones.

“It’s like the trash is taking itself out, honey,” the third announced.

“Thank you,” Olivia told the women.

Glancing around the restaurant, she noticed that there were several nods of agreement from the other patrons following this drama. A young man at a table near the door had taken out his phone and was preparing to film the scene.

Matt, his face brick red, was staring fixedly down at the starched tablecloth.

“I—I didn’t mean it that way,” he muttered. “Look, shall we go somewhere else and talk this through?”

He looked as if he was hoping the earth, or perhaps the restaurant’s granite tiles, would magically open and swallow him up.

As it was, he was going to have to leave Villa 49 and walk past every one of those people. Each one a newly discovered critic of Matt Glenn. He’d be judged every step of the way, and Olivia decided he could make that walk of shame alone.

“I’m leaving,” she said in quieter tones. “If you haven’t cleared out your stuff from my apartment by ten p.m. tonight, I’m donating whatever’s left to charity.”

Her gaze fell on the magnificent Tuscan red, which she’d chosen with such care and excitement. Even though she hadn’t gotten to experience the food, she was damned if she was going to leave that wine behind.

“This is coming with me.” She seized the bottle from the table, clamping her hand around the cool, dark glass. “You’ll find it on the bill.”

The women at the next table started to applaud.

Picking up her purse, Olivia turned and marched to the door.

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