Free TROUBLE 3 by Kristina Weaver Page A

away or at the office. Where I haven’t been since the accident.
    “Lena, the man has serious trust issues and a frightening need to control every aspect of his life. And mine. And apparently everyone who so much as breathes my way. Give him a break already. He’s apologized, and that’s as good as it gets with him.”
    “You call that an apology? He told me he had his reasons and I should understand!” she yells, and Natalia starts giggling so hard I can’t help but laugh too.
    “You know that’s Greg-speak for ‘sorry.’”
    “Stop being such a bitch, Lena. It’s done and dusted,” Nat mutters, changing the subject with a humph of irritation and a not so nice scowl directed at me.
    “Thanks a lot for setting me up with Gregory’s twin brother, Control Freak 2.0. I woke up this morning to his secretary informing me that a car would be at my disposal. When I tried to sneak out and run to the subway, my phone buzzed. Guess what he said. Go ahead. Guess!”
    “That you can’t use the subway?” I ask with a wince.
    I’ve been there and had that hour-long argument, so I understand her anger. Men can be such tools sometimes.
    “That I can’t use the subway!” she yells right over me, ignoring the look Lena and I share.
    “What’s the big deal, Nat? The subway sucks. All those sweaty bodies are gross,” Lena says with a shrug that only a rich socialite can pull off.
    “I like those sweaty bodies, thank you very much. How else do you expect me to get my daily grope on? And that’s not the point. He’s only doing this because he wants to control me.”
    Been there too, sister. Might as well just shut up and give in. Men, especially rich and powerful men like Greg, Fletcher, and Taylor, simply do not stop until they get what they want. Namely, complete control of the women they—
    “Oh, stop complaining. At least he said he loves you,” I mutter, scowling darkly.
    Seriously, she’s been with Fletch for all of five seconds and the guy’s made his move. At the rate I’m going I’ll need a sledgehammer and pliers to get the words out of Greg. Damned stubborn bastard.
    “Han.”
    I keep muttering to myself as I sip my ginger ale and eye their vodka cranberries with a greedy eye.
    “Son of a bitch, do you know what he sai—”
    “Han!” Lena yells, getting my attention.
    “What?”
    “He hasn’t shown you — that asshole. I warned him.”
    With that she rips her purse open and pulls out a white envelope that I recognize vaguely.
    “Here. Read it.”
    I take the thing and hold it like it’s a snake, giving her a glower that doesn’t quite reach my eyes.
    “If this is what I think it is, I’ll pass, thanks. I—”
    “Oh for God’s sake, just look at it already.”
    I roll my eyes and pull out what I know is her wedding invitation, the very same design I’d haggled with the printers over. What I see though…
    “What the hell is this?”
    “His very stupid, yet romantic declaration of love?” she asks.
    As I look down at the gold scrawl I feel myself burst with joy.
    “That man is such a tool.”
    But a tool who loves me, if this invitation tells the story.
     
     

Chapter Thirteen
     
    When Nat and Lena leave, I do what I should have done months ago and go stalker on my husband. I search everything he owns and find nothing. It’s as I’m slumped dejectedly at his desk that I realize I’m going about this the wrong way.
    Of course I won’t find anything worthwhile in his things; he’s not interested in controlling himself, because it’s me he’s been after for months. What I find when I go through my drawers pisses me off as much as it warms my heart.
    A quick internet search later and I am totally sure that he’s been playing me the whole time. Sure, it’s kinda sweet and romantic, if you go in for being married to a psycho.
    I’m not that girl, so instead of having the warm and cuddlies I’m so furious I could spit.
    I keep the rage festering all day and into the evening