Your Ivy Grows

Chapter 29

I'm stood frozen in place at John's side, unable to move. I stare off into the crowd, as if I have the power to will Barnes back through thought alone. John took me by surprise tonight, but I should've known better. I should have seen this coming. He's been too quiet lately, and I'd stupidly believed he was coming to terms with our marriage ending. But I've proven myself the fool once again.

"Come on." John's hold on me doesn't slacken as he tugs me with him towards the dancefloor. The crowd slowly parts, making a path for us.

The crowd lingers on the dancefloors edge, watching as John pulls me against him. I'm numb—every part of me. I feel nothing as he takes me in his arms and waits for the music to begin. When it does, a wave of nausea washes over me as recognition hits. It's the song we danced to on our wedding day. It propels me back to the day when I willingly and happily signed my life over to this man. I'm lost somewhere between anger and devastation. Walking the line between wanting to scream and wanting to breakdown.

We move across the dancefloor together, but it's stilted and awkward. I'm not at home in his arms. Nothing about this feels natural. I bite back a wince every time he missteps and my toes pay the price. The sharp sting of pain is welcome though; it finally makes me feel something and shakes me out of my frozen, silent state.

"What the fuck was that?" I hiss at him, not even trying to hide my anger. I don't care who sees it.

"Keep your voice down, Alex." John warns me, his voice low, calm and deadly. "You didn't think I'd let our ten-year anniversary go by and not celebrate it, did you?"

"More like your PR team couldn't miss an opportunity to get your face plastered all over tomorrow's front pages?"

"Well," John shoots me a sleazy smile before continuing. "Can you blame them?"

"Fuck you, John!"

"Really, Alex, do you have to swear so much? You know I hate it. It's so unattractive." John admonishes me.

Does he think I care what he does or doesn't find attractive? This is an argument we've had before. He hates my mouth, always has. I've never cared. It didn't bother him when it was Tommy, and we're cut from the same cloth. When you spend your childhood having every imaginable insult thrown at you by your own father, nothing sounds offensive anymore. I mean, when someone calls you a 'stupid fucking cunt' more times than you can count, everything else pales in comparison.

"Fuck you!"

"Is that an offer?"

I jerk back, but he merely laughs before tugging me back to him. The crowd is watching us as we move together. They're giving us space—too much space. I want them closer, want them to hear this exchange. But John's smart, and he wouldn't be talking like this if he felt like anyone could overhear it.

"Don't look so shocked, Alex. I've been more than patient with you these last few years while you've thrown your temper tantrums. But I'm tired of it. You are my wife. That won't change. The sooner you come to terms with it, the better."

"I don't need to come to ter—"

"I think you'll find you do. What do you think is going to happen, huh? You think you're just going to leave? Have we not been over this time and time again? With what money?" He has the nerve to laugh before moving a hand up to cup my face. It looks like a loving gesture to those watching, but it doesn't feel that way. "We both know the tiny amounts you've squirreled away when you thought I didn't notice aren't enough to support yourself for more than a week."

I try not to react to his words; I really do. But I can't help it. He hears my sharp intake of breath and laughs.

"You didn't really think you were getting away with it, did you?"