Michele Jones

“But it is.” “What do you mean?” I hesitate before letting the next sentence leave my lips. “I can’t see Grace and not want her. If I see them, I have to see her, and I can’t be married to one woman while wanting another.” Her eyes widen as she finally begins to understand the full complexities of the situation. “You still have feelings for her?” she whispers. “It’s like she never left. She’s all I think about, I’m dreaming of her. I nearly called Ariana by the wrong name while having sex the other day because in my head I was with Grace. I lie in bed beside my sweet, beautiful fiancée while I think about a woman who has been lying to me for seven years, Grace fucking Porter.” “Oh fuck.” She stares at me. “Oh hell. This is bad. This is so bad, Gabriel. Your wedding to Ariana is in three weeks.” “Do you think I don’t know that?” I whisper angrily. “I’m the worst person on earth. I’m deserting my own children because I know I can’t not want their mother.” She holds her temples and then puts her hand up for the waiter. “I need wine for this conversation.” I steeple my hands in front of my mouth as I think. “Why would this happen now when I’ve been so happy? For the first time in my life, I finally have my shit together.” She twists her lips as she thinks. “Tell me about Grace.” “I don’t even know where to start,” I fume. “She’s insufferable and a liar. A total smart-ass. She hates me, everything that comes out of her mouth is sarcastic and infuriating. Not to mention the worst cook, you have no idea how bad the food is, Claire, it would literally”
― T.L. Swan, The Bonus