Mister Know It All by Amélie S. Duncan

FORD

A body lighter

My phone chimed.

“I forgot to ask you yesterday. Did you go see Randall?” Jasmine asked. It hadn’t been long, but I’d missed the sound of her voice. Strong yet quiet.

“Yes, I did,” I said. “He had no right to threaten you.”

“Let me take care of my own battles.”

“Not if he touches you. If you’re not pressing charges, then I’m pressing him.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“I am when I’m inside you.”

“No dirty talk. Quinton is looking right at me, and his gossip radar is about to go off. But seriously. No more going rogue with exes.”

I laughed, and she joined in before we hung up. As long as that asshole doesn’t bother you, he’s fine.

I had just walked up to St. Tropez. The smell of beef meatballs and ratatouille hit my senses on the way inside the restaurant, and my mouth watered. I’ll get takeout for Jasmine and me to have next time she’s over.

Cecile was already seated with a bottle of white wine open and poured.

Before I could sit down, the waitress came over to take my drink order.

“Nothing for me,” I said, stopping on the opposite side. My brows lowered as I gazed over the lunch setup with flowers and lit candles like we were here on a romantic date. As if she hadn’t left.

She waved her hand. “You never pass up ratatouille from St. Tropez. I know you like the dining room, but the barstools back here make it easier to sit and eat comfortably. I’m almost ready to stop using the brace. The physical therapy has been a godsend, and I—”

“Stop,” I interrupted. “Stop talking like nothing is different.”

Her brows raised. “Whatever do you mean? I’m trying to be mature instead of screaming like I want to do.”

I snorted. “Too late for that. You fucked around in my house.”

“I was upset. I messed with your childish toys, so what? We agreed on a break, and you promised to give me time. Instead, you send a message that you’ve moved on?”

My jaw ticked. “You’re upset about messages? For three months I sent messages to you and you didn’t answer. I shouldn’t have bothered.”

“Now, Ford, you know why I chose not to communicate. It was because you smothered me after the accident. I had therapists taking all my time and you double-checking on whether or not I did everything. Your obsession with everything was excessive. Hell, you were helping me dress every day, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I felt like a doll, not a desired woman. It was too much, and it made me feel guilty.”

I took a deep breath and said what I kept in for months. “Guilty, because I forgave you for cheating on me with Andre? I did whatever it took to help you recover, but you didn’t care. You left anyway.”

I’d used what I learned to keep my alcoholic mother from ruining the lives of my siblings. When she couldn’t do it, I took over her job as their parent, organizing their lives so they would eat, sleep, study. My heart told me caring was loving. But she saw my caring as oppressive. Would Jasmine see it that way too? She was much more independent and had her life together. She’d done nothing to make me think I need to help her take care of herself. What she needed was care for her heart.

Cecile picked up her glass of wine and drained most of it. “You’re silent, making me uncomfortable. Have a drink of wine. You can handle it. Many children of alcoholics drink an occasional glass. I’d hoped you’d have gone to therapy and worked on yourself while I was gone.”

I’d done therapy, and I’d decided to only drink occasionally. Cecile’s idea of mental health treatment meant I should change into who she wanted me to be. Hell, she didn’t like who I was personally, only that I was a photographer and had money. She detested my “stupid geek stuff,” as she called it from the start. Jasmine thought of it as a badge of honor.

“I’m not interested in drinking or talking about the past. Why are you here?” I asked.

She furrowed her brows. “What kind of question is that? I’m here because we love each other and you asked me to marry you. While I’m thinking, you take a lover to punish me.”

“Jasmine isn’t a punishment for you. I like her.”

“But you love me,” she said and smiled. “You’re infatuated. I saw your pictures of her. I suppose a few images show some promise, but I hear she doesn’t even live in New York City. She’s a college student from Boston.”

I frowned. “Who told you?”

She cocked a brow. “I still have some friends in New York City. I do check in with the gallery on your work. Liberty talks to Martin.”

I seethed. Martin needed to talk with his assistant, Liberty. “So, you can talk to people here, but you can’t talk to me? You’re here because I started seeing Jasmine?”

“I’m here to end our break. I’m also here to help repair your friendship with Andre. He said you wouldn’t take his calls.” She took a big gulp of wine.

“You’ve talked to Andre?” I growled.

Cecile finished her wine and poured another glass. “I had no choice. Andre needed my deposition for his court case. The DUI cost him his license, and they demoted him at work. He told me you’re holding out on signing over the property his dad left to you when he was too far gone with his illness.”

I folded my arms. “That’s a lie. Andre’s dad wanted that property to become a retreat for people with Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis, like he had.”

She curled her lip. “His dad didn’t know his son would need the money. I’m sure he wouldn’t have wanted his son to become destitute.”

“Andre is not destitute. He’s angry his dad didn’t leave him everything. So that’s why you’ve returned? To get me to dishonor his father’s dying wish?”

“Ford, stop being so sensitive.” She reached over and touched my hand. “I came back because I want to accept your marriage proposal, but you must leave your affair behind.”

“I’m not ending things with Jasmine,” I said and removed her hand. “There is no marriage proposal. You said no, and I don’t want to marry you anymore.” And now, I was glad she said no. I knew what I wanted now, and it wasn’t Cecile.

She blinked rapidly. “So, you’re mad. I suppose I deserve that. I should have come back sooner, but you can’t tell me you don’t care for me or all your feelings are gone. You sent me a message instead of moving on. You wanted to provoke me with another woman, and it worked.”

“Even without Jasmine, I’ve changed, and like you, I like who I’ve changed into.”

Cecile had inspired me and brought my hobby to a greater audience, and I’d forever appreciate her for that. Seeing her stronger was good, and I admired that in her. But I expected more than sex from a relationship now. I wanted someone I had something in common with. Someone who had ambition and their own dreams. Someone who I could share all of my life with.

She sniffled. “Our break was a mistake. It hurt you instead of making you stronger like me. Please don’t cast me out, Ford. Give me time to readjust. I have no job, and my accident left me living off my savings. I thought maybe you could do a second collection of me? Since I’ve changed, you can do a contrast of maturity in the images—”

“My art is about my attraction, sensuality, and sexuality. I don’t do redemption art.”

She blanched and furrowed her brows in contemplation. I was about to leave when she lifted her head and asked, “Have you tried to expand your art? You might surprise yourself with what you find. I mean, you have clients willing to blank-check you. They will take anything.”

I tuned her out and bit the inside of my cheek. Cecile finally told the truth. She came back because she wanted to extend her fifteen minutes and make more money. She’d also put Liberty in an awkward position that Martin would have to let her go. Why hadn’t I seen this side of Cecile before? I’d been in lust, infatuated with her. She was my muse, and my artwork thrived. I thought we’d been in love. I was, but I was also missing most of the time with work. Cecile liked that. She only wanted to use me.

“Martin handles that, but you already know that part. That’s why you remained in contact with Liberty. So let me bottom-line this for you. I won’t be taking any more photos of you. I don’t even care if you decide to see Andre. Just go on with your life and stay out of mine.”

“Ford, I need you. Don’t shut me out,” she cried.

“Like you did me? We’re over.”

She had no comeback for that. She looked scared because her scheme didn’t go as she planned.

What stunned me was that she showed no signs of remorse or genuine care for leaving me waiting for her.

“We’re done, Cecile. We’re over.”

I left the table and walked out of the restaurant a body lighter and better for it.