The Divorced Heiress Is Entering a New Marriage

I really had no choice but to go along with this, even if it hurt me.

“I don’t know,” Maria said. She popped the cork out of the bottle of wine, then brought it and two glasses to the table. “But if it were me, I would have wanted my husband to fight for our relationship a little harder against his grandfather.”

“Don’t get me started,” I said miserably. The hurt was very real, lying dormant under my anger. I was afraid, even mentioning it, might cause it to overwhelm me. I had to keep it contained, under lock and key, with anger as the guard.

At that moment, the doorbell rang. Maria and I both looked at the door.

“Expecting someone?” Maria asked.

“No,” I replied.

“If it’s him, I’ll go,” Maria said, grabbing her take out,

I held up my hand, stopping her. I highly, highly doubted this was him. “Wait a minute.”

As I walked to the door, there was a second knock, this time coupled with a shouting voice, “Delivery!”

As sure as I had been that it wasn’t Logan at the door, I still felt disappointed now, knowing for sure. I knew it wasn’t him, but I had hoped it was.

Giving me his time would have gone a long way to showing me he cared.

I pull open the door and am immediately faced with floor to ceiling heart–shaped balloons.

“Hazel Whitaker?” comes a voice from somewhere beyond them.

“That’s me,” I said.

The delivery man pushed forward bringing the balloons into the living room. “Where do you want these,

ma’am?”

“Uh. Over there, I guess,” I waved him toward a far corner. He moved at once, with three dozen heart

balloons in tow.

“And these?” asked a second delivery person, who had been hidden behind that first one. This one carried two bouquets of beautiful blooming flowers.

“Oh the coffee table,” I directed.

“I also have a delivery,” said another person, and then another, and another.

By the time they had all come and gone, my living room was full of boxes, flowers, and balloons.

“What the heck is all this?” Maria asked as she came closer.

I picked one box from the top of a box tower and opened it.

I gasped.

Inside was a sparkling diamond pendant necklace with matching earrings. The diamonds were huge, pair-

shaped. It looked expensive. I could only imagine how much it actually cost.

“Here’s a card,” Maria said, plucking it from one of the flower bouquets. She brought it toward me and

handed it over.

My name was written on the front, in a handwriting I didn’t recognize. Opening it, I read the words.

I hope this helps make up for some of the hardships I’ve given you. Logan. Còntens bel0ngs to Nô(v)elDr/a/ma.Org

The inside wasn’t his handwriting either. Who wrote, this? Someone from the flower shop? But that would mean Logan didn’t even go. He just called, and paid. Did he even tell them what flowers to use? The flowers were beautiful, but they didn’t seem to have any significance.

Likely, he didn’t actually hand–pick any of this: He probably just called the different stores and handed out his credit card numbers

Some effort. Some apology, without even an apology attached!

It made me feel dirty, like I was the kind of woman who only needed to be handed sparkling things and everything would be forgiven.

I ripped the card in two and threw it onto the ground.

Maria watched me do it, her anger returning

“Will you help me call these places? All of them,” I said.

“What do you want to do?” she asked me.

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“I’m not some prize to be bought or paid off with flowers and jewelry and who knows what else,” I say, my own fury rising once more. “We’re going to call these places and return everything. Even the freaking balloons.”