Page 92 of Vengeful Vows
Though it’s barely five o’clock in the morning, I call my attorney and instruct him to put together divorce papers.
I have to give Bella the one thing she wants. Even though it will destroy me.
CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO
Bella
There’s a poundingon my hotel door.
Even though I’m curled on my bed, a pillow pulled to my chest as I rock back and forth, numb from shock and grief, I freeze in place.
“It’s me!” Amelia calls, and I exhale in relief.
I don’t expect Nico to show up—especially after receiving the envelope he had couriered to my office a few hours ago—but when it comes to him, nothing surprises me.
“Open up!”
Knowing she’ll persist until I do, I pad to the door. After peeking out to be sure she’s alone, I let her in.
My friend is holding a gigantic bouquet of flowers that she hands to me, making me burst into tears all over again.
“Oh, Bel…”
Once we’re inside with the security lock in place, she folds me into a big hug while I attempt to choke back my emotions.
“That’s it,” she declares, her voice no-nonsense. “We’re getting you out of this room.”
I can’t believe she’s here. These are some of the busiest days of the year in retail. Yet the moment I texted her that I had received the proposed divorce settlement papers from Nico, she must have left the store.
She crosses into my bathroom and returns with a handful of tissues. “Wipe your eyes. If we’re having a complete meltdown, we are going to do it with style.”
“I just want to wallow in my misery.”
“Too bad. You texted me, and now you’ve got me.”
Amelia doesn’t seem to care that I’m in pajamas with my hair hanging in disarray and my makeup ruined.
After shoving the wad of tissues at me, she goes to my closet and pulls out a little black dress and silver party heels.
“Get dressed.”
Because of her bustling energy, I momentarily forget how destroyed I am.
Then she yanks an artificial flower arrangement out of a vase and fills it with water. While I change, she artfully arranges the bouquet she brought for me.
Once I’m halfway decent, with a fresh application of mascara and lipstick, I ask, “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
We ride the elevator to the main floor, and then she tucks her arm in mine and leads me through the lobby, down a wide hallway, and into La Patisserie, the hotel’s renowned French bakery.
She orders every single one of the sweets and half a dozen macarons.
“Also a bottle of champagne.”
The clerk offers a beverage list that is the size of a book.
Amelia looks at me. “Whose credit card is the room registered to?”