I’ve been ignoring it, something I could easily do with our quick whirlwind relationship, but I can see it clearly now that he’s serving it up on a platter like a Thanksgiving turkey.

Everything is a façade with him. Image and reputation reign supreme.

I bet he thought I’d fit some corporate wife checkbox. Which would be so hurtful, except that I guess I was doing the same thing with my own checkboxes.

This was doomed from the start.

When I don’t muster even a single teardrop or argument, he continues, “We’re both so young, and hell, we haven’t even had sex in over three weeks.” His tone is accusatory, like it’s my fault we’ve been so tired that sex has seemed like one more thing on the ever-growing to-do list.

He keeps digging at the wound, pouring salt in a steady stream into the bloody mess of our relationship. “We’re both so busy with our jobs. You have that decorating thing you do that you love so much, and it takes up so much of your time, and I’m really busy at Dad’s company, kicking ass and making deals. I . . . I just think we’re at two different crossroads in our lives.”

The decorating thing that I do? Fuck off.

Out of all the things he said, insulting my job pisses me off the most.

And I could argue against so many of his points, letting him know that everything he said was bullshit.

But I’m not going to because, simply put, I don’t have time for this shit.

And I realize . . . I don’t care. Not about Colin.

I’m such an idiot. But it was all for a good reason.

Sorry, Papa. I tried.

“Fine,” I say simply, pulling my hands away from his before taking off my engagement ring. “Here. You can take this back, too. I don’t want it.”

I place the ring on the table and slide it across toward him, resisting the urge to throw it in his face or shove it up his nose, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of an emotional outburst. The huge diamond rock in the center sparkles against the light, catching the eye of several women sitting around us.

I swear some of their heads turn like The Exorcist to get a better look as they realize what’s happening, their eyes as big as saucers as they gawk at the size of the ring.

One of the women even leans so far forward to get a better look that she jostles her steaming hot coffee, spilling it on her hand. But instead of crying out at what I know has to hurt, she quietly blots at it, blowing cool air across her hand so she doesn’t miss a single moment of the Colin and Violet Breakup Show.