Chapter 507

Chapter 507:

I heard footsteps on her end.

“You going somewhere p>

“Just stepping onto the balcony,” she said. “Need some air. Then I can tell you p>

She paused.

Then shouted, loud enough to burst an eardrum, “YOU BLOODY IDIOT p>

I rubbed my ear, sank into the nearest chair, and braced myself for a long, punishing lecture. Yvaine didn’t disappoint.

“You ran off to Paris days after getting engaged. You’ve barely lifted a finger for the wedding. Then you spotted some mystery woman in a red dress and immediately decided Ashton must be in love with her and the whole thing’s off. You didn’t even ask him. It’s like you’ve been waiting for something to go wrong, and she just gave you the perfect excuse. Whether anything’s going on or not, you don’t care. You just want out, and now you’ve got a reason p>

I made a few non-committal noises to prove I was still on the line. If I didn’t, she might actually book an air taxi and fly to Paris to deliver her bollocking in person.

But really, she wasn’t saying anything I hadn’t already realized—just things I’d buried under a few layers of self-delusion.

She’d lose her mind if I told her the full plan. That I was thinking of relocating Mira Joie to Paris, which would only prove her theory that I’d been halfway out the door long before Red Dress ever showed up. I put her on speaker and let the rant wash over me.

By the time she paused for breath, I’d finished a coffee, brushed my teeth, checked my email, changed into pajamas, and crawled into bed.

“You’re not planning to break up with Ashton over the phone, are you?” Her tone turned sharp.

I was considering it. “No p>

“Liar p>

“Fine, you caught me p>

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“I pity Ashton, I really do. Poor guy p>

“I thought you were my friend. Aren’t you supposed to be on my side p>

“I’m on the side of right, and you’re in the wrong here. Completely wrong, Mira honey p>

Goosebumps prickled my arms. She only called me “honey” when she was absolutely livid.

“You were supportive when I broke up with Rhys,” I said, a bit sulkily.

“Because he was a walking red flag and he laid hands on you. What’s Ashton done? You’re breaking up with him because you think—and I stress ‘think’—he might have feelings for another woman. You’ve got no proof p>

“There’s the photo,” I said. “Of a Hug. Not a snog

Not a grope in the middle of the Champs-Élysées. That wouldn’t hold up in court p>

“I’m not taking him to court p>

“Don’t change the subject, Mirabelle Vance. You’re a coward when it comes to relationships. Always have been. Rhys burned you once, and now you’re convinced no good man could possibly love you. You were fine when it was fake. Even fine when you were just dating. But the second he puts a ring on your finger, you get cold feet and leg it p>

“Thank you, Dr. Freud,” I muttered, rubbing my temples. “Now that you’ve diagnosed me, got a prescription to go with it p>

“Nope. Don’t pin this on me. It’s your mess, and you’ve got to figure it out. Break up with him, stay with him, hire a dozen male strippers to help you cope, or hire a private eye to tail him. Your call. But it’s got to be YOUR call p>