My Fiancé Kissed His “Just a Friend” in the Break Room. Oops—I Kissed Their Freedom Goodbye. Chapter 02

My Fiancé Kissed His “Just a Friend” in the Break Room. Oops—I Kissed Their Freedom Goodbye. Chapter 02

Before Ronan could even open his mouth, Sasha laughed.

“Daddy’s girl.” She leaned back. “Your girlfriend’s a total daddy’s girl.”

She slipped the ring into her pocket. “Runs to her parents for everything. You’ll never grow up, you know that? Never have an original thought.”

Ronan saw the room going south fast. He turned to me. “Vera, stop. We’re not calling anything off. Sasha’s just messing around. Don’t take her seriously.”

I looked at him. “The ring’s in her pocket. So who exactly do you want to marry?”

He turned to Sasha and held out his hand. “Sasha. Give me the ring. Quit screwing around.”

But she pulled her hand back. “Why should I give it to her? Look at her. All she talks about is what her parents said.”

“She takes off the ring at the first sign of trouble. Threatens to leave. That’s manipulation, plain and simple. I’m helping you see it. Don’t shoot the messenger.”

I stood up and grabbed my purse. “Fine. Keep it. That little rock was too small anyway.”

Sasha scoffed. “Too small? Then why were you wearing it? Stop pretending.”

I didn’t answer. Just walked toward the door.

The second I stepped forward, Ronan’s voice came from behind me. “Vera, maybe you should go home and cool off.”

He didn’t grab me. Didn’t chase me.

Because I’d never told him about my family. Why would I? I’m low-maintenance. None of that stuff seemed worth mentioning.

I looked back over my shoulder.

Sasha was leaning back in her chair, arm slung over Ronan’s shoulder, patting it.

“Let her go,” she said. “Don’t chase a woman having a tantrum. She’ll come around on her own.”

Ronan nodded. “Yeah… Vera’s usually really easygoing. I don’t know why she’s acting so dramatic today.”

I smiled to myself and walked out.

When I got home, both my parents were there.

My dad was sitting on the living room couch, cleaning his collection of custom-made revolvers. The good ones. Italian.

My mom was lying in her massage chair, getting her nails done by a technician she’d flown in from Paris. Because apparently no one in Boston could do a decent gel overlay.

I changed into my slippers and sat down on the couch.

“Dad. Mom.” I said it calm. “I called off the engagement with Ronan.”

My dad’s hand stopped mid-wipe. “You what?”

Without another word, he flipped open the revolver’s cylinder. Checked the chambers.

“That bastard do something to you?” His voice went low. “Another woman? Did he hurt you?”

“Say the word and he’s gone tonight.”

My mom sat up straight. Ten freshly done nails spread wide like claws. Her eyes were on fire.

“Who the hell dares to bully my daughter?”

That’s just how my mom talks. She’s forty-seven and still acts like she owns the world.

You wanna know why my dad fell for her back in the day?

During a gang war, some idiot put a knife to her throat. And she just screamed, “Go ahead. Touch one hair on my head. See what happens. Your queen dares you.”

So yeah. That’s her.

I pulled a pillow into my lap. “No one bullied me. I just didn’t want to get married anymore. Didn’t feel right.”

My mom’s whole face softened. She patted the spot next to her. “Come here, baby.”

“Fine. Don’t get married then. Come pick out a nail design you like.”

She waved her fresh nails at me. “Mommy always said that ring was too small anyway. I could barely see it without a magnifying glass. I’ll buy you a dozen pigeon blood rubies tomorrow. You can wear them on your toes for all I care.”

I stayed calm because I know my parents too well.

If I told them the truth? Ronan’s family business would be shut down by sunrise. And Sasha? She’d turn up in the Charles River the day after.

With parents like mine, the only way to live is low-key. Otherwise we’d be on the news every other week.

Besides. I really am low-maintenance. Nothing feels worth getting angry about.

After my shower, I lay in my king-size canopy bed and stared at the lamp on my nightstand.

It was custom-made by an artisan in Florence. The base was encrusted with diamonds. Every single stone was bigger than the one on Ronan’s ring.

I suddenly laughed.

Sasha said you have to fight for things in this world. No fight, no voice.

She said she couldn’t stand girls like me pretending to be above it all.

But what exactly am I supposed to fight for?

Growing up, if I wanted something, my dad would have it in my room the next morning.

If I liked something I saw in a store, my mom would buy the whole display. I didn’t even have to ask. I just had to look at it for one second too long.

My mom always said my life was supposed to be easy. No struggles. No drama. Just peace.

All I had to do was stay low-key. And everything would stay peaceful.

So tell me, Sasha…

What exactly am I supposed to fight for?