Free Unwrapped by Gennifer Albin Page A

wedding.”
    Change the freaking record, Bobby. “Exactly what I was thinking! But the only thing is that they want it in a week.”
    “But the wedding plans—”
    “I know, but I need to take this. I need to contribute something.” Like a boot to your nuts.
    “I don’t know, Hazy.”
    Now for the bait. “It would mean I’d have to stay at my studio all week. I’d barely see you. Maybe I should call them back and tell them no.”
    “Well, now, don’t be hasty. It’s a lot of money, and you’ve your reputation to think of. We don’t want people thinking you renege once you’ve accepted a commission.”
    He’s probably realized that he’ll have six Hazel-free nights to fuck anyone he wants. I press a little. “Are you sure? I packed a bag, but I can just come back. It is the week before our wedding, after all.”
    “Oh, I don’t know. Might be kind of fun to limit contact this week. It will make it that much more amazing when I see you walking down the aisle in that gorgeous dress.”
    The dress he picked out, with the corset top so tight I can’t breathe, with about ten pounds of beadwork weighing me down, and a mermaid-style bottom. The last cut I’d choose for myself. “It would be kind of cool if the next time I saw you, we were saying our vows.” For real.
    He chuckles. “Let’s do it, then. I’ll see you on the altar. Make sure you call before stopping by the apartment this week. Just to be sure.”
    Asshole. “Okay.”
    “Love you.”
    I can’t even force myself to say it back as a lie. “Bye!”
    My hands start shaking, but I’ve reached my parking spot at the studio and don’t have to worry about traffic, or the general public seeing me break down. Emotions sort of ricochet around my chest. Anger, hurt, fear at my suddenly uncertain future, and even guilt at what I’m about to do to Bobby, war for dominance with no real victor. My heart is a lit-up pinball machine with a piece of metal bouncing around with nowhere to go. No release. Just points getting racked up, emotions ratcheting to impossible heights with no end in sight.
    But that’s not true. The wedding. Six more sleeps and I’m free. Eyes on the prize, Hazel! Eschewing the elevator, I take the stairs two at a time to burn off some angry energy until I reach my sixth floor apartment breathing heavier, but feeling marginally better. But the moment I open the door, I can feel the taint, as though a mildly poisonous gas has filled it, and if I stay a moment longer than I have to, I’ll suffocate and die.
    It still smells familiar, like paints, and lemon, and a hint of turpentine. But now that I know my creative space has been violated, the safety is gone. The warm, snuggly feeling that used to wrap me up when I walked inside has evaporated. The dark wood floors I used to pace when filled with the frantic, frenetic energy of a painting that needed to begin, but I wasn’t sure where to start yet. The window I’d stare out of, drinking in inspiration from the streets below. Even the couch that I designed, down to the stitches of the fabric.
    Everything here was mine, long before I met Bobby. But now it’s theirs. They’ve taken it from me, and I’m left with nothing. If there were any doubts before, seeing the space that is no longer mine has solidified my resolve. I can’t let them get away with everything I have, everything I am, without avenging it. Without letting them know the sting of a wronged lover.
    Bobby isn’t the only one who needs to pay. Love is fickle, but blood is supposed to mean something to even the most cynical bastards. Love means something to me, but apparently that’s a cheesy Hollywood dream, and not a reality. Well, things are about to get real up in this bitch.
    I call the woman who, just a few hours ago, I’d considered one of my best friends, someone I’d have taken a bullet for. She answers on the second ring. “Courtney speaking.”
    She always answers like that, even when she knows who’s