The guy and several other guests are staring at me without saying a word. The masseuse says, “Let’s cover your top part, Mrs. Archer.”

Just shoot me now. Can someone just take me out of my misery?

The guy who was speaking clears his throat. “Your husband requested it last night, along with the romantic dinner and the serenade.”

“Would you mind canceling everything?” I want to ask, but I remind myself that at the moment I have nothing better to do. So instead I say, “Thank you.”

Eighteen

Claire

A day you’ll never forget, he promised.

Every man will be measured against what I do.

Well, asshole, I’ll never forget you’re a fucking idiot. Every guy I date after you will look like Prince Charming.

The future doesn’t matter. I’m still stuck in hell. My very special day goes from, I’m sure Mr. Archer will arrive soon, to whispers about poor Señora Archer abandoned by her husband in the middle of her honeymoon. The employees had no idea I understood Spanish, so they just spoke shit about my cheating husband, and how stupid I am not knowing he was probably screwing some side dish in some other hotel.

His side dish is called 23 Media Inc. He founded it while finishing his master’s degree. His career is his passion and that company is the love of his life. That’s the only thing he cares about and obviously is so important he couldn’t leave me a freaking message saying, Bitch, I have to go back to work.

I should’ve skipped the scuba diving trip, but I've always wanted to swim with tropical fishes. The drive to Cozumel to visit the Great Maya Reef is lonely, and listening to the guy talking shit on the phone about my failed marriage is painfully embarrassing.

I can say, “Hey, that man isn’t my husband,” but what if they kick me out of the room?

So here I am, smiling like an idiot and pretending I have no idea what he’s saying—including the part where he says, “I can make her forget the cabron.”

I’m pretty sure cabron is Spanish for fucking asshole. Unfortunately, my parents only taught us the boring words. Cussing is something I learned from Thomas.

At least, while I’m submerged in the Caribbean waters, watching the most amazing view, I don’t think about my current situation. Until, I see a couple swimming toward me, holding hands and pointing at the beautiful fauna and fishes.

In a perfect world, Miller would be here and…what’s the point of torturing myself with what I know is an illusion?

Why did I let myself believe our relationship was possible?

Who wouldn’t want to have a guy who showers you with kisses and attention every second of the day?

That’s just it, Claire. Guys like that aren’t real.