“You know,” I say as I grab my purse and slide on my Gucci shades, ignoring the commotion of googly-eyed stares and growing whispers from women around us, “It was really good to reconnect after so long, Colin. And we tried to make it work. It didn’t. Thanks for everything.”

My words are clipped and to the point.

If he’s going to break off our engagement like this, I see no reason to drag it out with some long ass monologue that’ll amount to nothing in the end, anyway.

Finished, I begin to rise from my chair, but Colin grabs my arm, holding me in place, his jaw slack in surprise.

One of the women watching suddenly decides that’s her cue and claps her hands sharply, interrupting our scene with one of her own. “Boy, you’d best let that girl’s arm go. You had your moment, and a queen like that is better off without a twat-stain like you.”

Several people gasp at her language and volume, but Archie has me corrupted to not even blink at that level of crudeness. Thankful for the support, I look over to her and offer a weak smile of appreciation. For his part, Colin scowls but loosens his grip. Still, he’s not done.

“Wait a minute now, Vi. You’re not even going to try to talk about this? After all we’ve been through?” His voice has an almost whine to it, confirming what I expected.

He wanted me to break down and beg him not to leave me.

In front of a fucking audience.

Like he’s some golden goose prize that I would debase myself to possess.

Well, he can kick rocks.

I won’t give him the satisfaction of a show.

I shrug nonchalantly. “Nope.”

“Look, Vi, I know how much our getting married means to you. I get it, you’re pissed and upset. I would be too, but can we please not end things on bad terms? You don’t have to act this way—”

“We’re fine,” I say, disengaging my arm from his grasp and rising to my feet. “Besides, you’re right. It’s probably for the best.”

Colin’s lips work for several seconds, at a loss for words. Like he can’t believe this didn’t turn out how he expected, me in a crying puddle at his feet.

He clenches his jaw, showing that he’s actually getting angry. “Violet—”

“’Bye, Colin.”

Ruffled, Colin straightens his collar and clears his throat, trying one last tactic, gesturing at my half-eaten food. “Will you just sit down and finish the bagel, at least?”

Turning away, I toss over my shoulder, just as casually as he tossed away our relationship, “No time. I gotta go to work . . . and do that ‘decorating thing’.”