Then he had the audacity to turn it all back on himself. “We haven’t had sex for months,” he said. “Perhaps if I was having my needs met by my fiancé I wouldn’t have to look elsewhere.”
My hand shot into the air to shut him up, even though he couldn’t see it. “No way, Rex. You are not putting the blame for this on me. Our wedding isn’t happening. Our relationship is finished. And here’s an FYI. Don’t take a dump in your office toilet until you’ve had maintenance check it out. I flushed the engagement ring. Goodbye, Rex. Have a crap life.”
I ended the call, high-fived my girlfriends and collapsed back onto the couch.
Casey poured a celebration round of shots over the bowls of ice cream Dani had just prepared.
***
It wasn’t just the fringe hangover that threw me off balance the next morning. I couldn’t stop rubbing my thumb over my naked ring finger where, for the last year, an ostentatious solitaire diamond had reminded me of my commitment to a man who would forever be known as that cheating bastard.
My first call was to my editor, Francine, to try to work out a new angle for my story. She, in turn, tried to get me to work out a new angle for my relationship with Rex.
“He cheated, Francine. He doesn’t get a second chance.”
Really? I had to explain this to a woman who ran a bridal magazine? I waited through her deep sigh for—just maybe—a word of sympathy.
“Saylor. If you want to get married you have to be a big girl. Life’s not perfect. Men stray. It doesn’t mean anything—”
“Are you on his side? Because it sounds—”
“Listen, princess. The mostly female readership of The Big Day does not want to read about cheating fiancés. They want to read about dresses and catering, pre-wedding pampering and luxury honeymoon locations. Let’s not burst their bubble. They can learn about Mr. Infidelity when Mr. Fabulous starts working late. Advertisers want fluffy pink hearts and big wedding budgets. Consider this a hump. Your first hiccup. Go back to Rex and we can all live happily ever after.”
That call didn’t last much longer. I dropped the phone wondering if somehow I’d managed to surround myself with sociopaths. And I considered a second thing. Was my idea of marriage some sort of unattainable fairytale?
My next call was to my agent, Dominic, at Six-Degrees, the agency that hooked me up with brand sponsorship on my Instagram. I figured I was about to say farewell to my complimentary La Perla lingerie, killer heels, the handbags, the makeup, the pampering, the cute yoga workout clothes, and the Insta-checks that hit my bank account on a regular basis and paid my rent.
Worse than that, I had to face my Instagram followers. I don’t know how many brides-to-be and bride-wannabes I had among my 200k followers, but there were a lot of supporters there, and I had no idea how to let them down, gently.
I made my third cup of coffee before I put in the call to Dominic.
“Hey, Dom, it’s—”
“Saylor. I’ve just got off the phone with Francine. Tell me this bust-up with Sexy-Rexy is Francine’s idea of a joke, doll. Please tell me that.”
Across the room, against the far wall, packages filled with honeymoon lingerie were stacked precariously like the Tower of Pisa. I was supposed to model them for a photo shoot in a five-star hotel suite the following day. Dominic had worked his butt off organizing it for me. “Sorry, Dom, it’s not a joke.”
“Mmkay,” he said cautiously, “how are we going to fix this? Does Rex need some counseling? A slap?”
A sharp pain jabbed my temple. Did anyone care that Rex was a cheat, that he’d completely destroyed my trust and that he was wholly unsuitable as husband material?
“There’s nothing to fix. It’s too broken.”
“Let’s not be hasty, doll. Anything can be fixed. Why don’t you meet me for lunch and we’ll make a plan. This sounds like nothing more than a case of pre-wedding nerves.”
Anger surged through me. “He cheated, Dom, and he’ll do it again. Call me old-fashioned, but I find that unforgivable.”
Silence. Finally, Dominic cleared his throat and when he spoke again his tone was all business.
“You understand your sponsors will pull.”
“I do. So I’ll change the direction of my Instagram and we can get new sponsors.”
“I’m sorry, Saylor. Your contract with Six-Degrees hinges on you getting married. Unless you’ve got another fiancé up your sleeve, the contract is void. I’m disappointed. The agency has put a lot of effort into building up your following.”
“I understand. But if I change direction, I’m sure I can keep a lot of those followers, and gain new ones. I’ll draft a post. Maybe you can go over it for me.”
“Our consulting fee for non-contracted clients is three-hundred-and-fifty dollars per hour.”