Chapter 5

SIENNA POV

I took a proper look at my dancing partner. He looked okay enough. Maybe I was vain but what was that thing they said about leveling up after an ex? This man was not nearly as handsome or classy as Harry but I wasn't about to marry him. I just needed him to scratch an 'itch'. And with the way his eyes twinkled, he was born ready.

"What is the next level?"

"Let me show you," he answered, leading me away from the dance floor.

In a minute, we were in the bar's surprisingly deserted toilet and he locked the door like he owned the place, which amused me. Our hands were all over each other and it was going well — until he brought his lips to mine. I immediately got the ick. Kisses are reserved for men I'm actually attracted to.

"Just fúck me," I countered. "Got a condóm?"

"A gentleman always does," he answered, digging in his pocket for it. He was no gentleman but I said nothing as I waited, bent against the sink while he slipped the condóm on.

He lifted my T-shirt and I felt the exact moment he stilled. The calloused hand digging into my hips let go and his whole body tensed. It seemed like he had seen Medusa and turned into stone.

Before I could ask what the problem was, he spoke, "Bloody hell… people still do this fúckery?"

"What fúckery?"

"Putting names of fúckers on their body… Who the fúck is Harry?"

Shít. Shít. Shít!

I had completely forgotten about my tattoo. In the early days of our marriage when I was still drunk in love, I had suggested to Harry that we get matching tattoos. Maybe a heart or our wedding date on our wrists.

I am not sure exactly when the tides shifted but we visited a tattoo shop and I walked out with a tattoo of his name on my lower back, right above my waistline, while he got no tattoo.

Maybe the fact that it was on my back and I didn't see it often, combined with how long it had been since Harry commented on it, contributed to the tattoo being nearly non-existent in my books.

In record time, the man had pulled his pants back up and was blowing hot, "If any daughter of mine ever inks a random man's name on her body, I'd disown her. Only a simp would fùck a woman while reading another man's name off her waist like a chant."

With that, he stormed out of the toilet, slamming the door much harder than necessary. I was right; he was not a gentleman.

As I fixed my own clothing, watching my face in the mirror, I could only think of how low I had fallen.

Sienna Monroe. Harvard cúm laude engineering graduate. Only child of the biggest hoteliers in New York. Once happily married to her college sweetheart.

Now estranged from her family. Divorced on accusation of adultery. Broke and jobless.

Oh, and so séx starved, she was ready to fúck a stranger in a public toilet. But even he bailed out on her.

I could taste my tears as they reached my mouth; they tasted like shame and failure. How low can you go, Sienna Monroe?

I woke up with a terrible hangover the next morning. Apparently after the toilet incident, I ended up drinking even more than I had drunk before. Margo had driven a wasted me home, put me to sleep and spent the night over. Now, she was in the kitchen preparing breakfast for us. What would I do without my best friend?

Forcing myself out of bed, I slipped my silk robe off and tried to see the tattoo by looking down my back but it hurt my neck and still, I could barely make out the design. So I walked to the full length mirror in my bedroom and turned my back to it, looking at my naked reflection on its shiny surface.

There it was. The word 'Harry' written in clear cursive handwriting. Harry had chosen the tattoo shop, the tattoo artist — he insisted it be a woman, the tattoo design, everything. Thankfully, it was a small tattoo and he didn't ask for his face to be drawn on my whole back.

With a sigh, I wore my robe again and returned to bed. What a fool I was.

I knew I had to get rid of the tattoo. Not because a random bozo with chipped teeth refused to fùck me for it. But because I was single and free. My body did not belong to Harry or any other man. It belonged to me and I would never put another man's name on it again.

"Breakfast's ready!" Margo called, bouncing into the room with a tray of crackers, avocado slices and hot chocolate.

"Breakfast in bed," I said with a tired smile as I received the tray from her. "Thank you."

"I can tell your ex-husband never did this for you," she noted, looking around the bedroom I shared with Harry. "I really do wonder what you saw in him."

I couldn't help but chuckle, careful not to worsen my headache. Of course, Margo was already addressing him as 'ex-husband'.

She wasn't done. "I still can't believe that douche had the guts to accuse you of cheating when he is in fact, the cheater."

The questions surrounding Harry's accusation were still unanswered but they were the least of my worries right now. I was officially divorced and about to start life afresh at age twenty six. That seemed to me like a bigger problem.

"Easy, tigress. We're still in his house," I joked.

Her frown didn't ease even a little. "Yes, his house. Because you signed the divorce papers without contesting any of his ridiculous terms."

"You're flogging a dead horse, Margo. I'll be fine. I still have my engineering degree. I just need to start applying to jobs. I'll move to our Airbnb apartment in Malden till I find my feet."

"Our? You mean Harry's."

"Well, yes. I guess it's Harry's now. But he's not going to throw me out."

"And you know that because?"

"Come on, Margo. He might be a bit vindictive but he's not the devil. The house is mostly inhabited, why won't he let me stay there temporarily?"

"I hope for your sake that you're right."

"I am." I pulled her into a hug. "Just as I was when I chose the sweetest girl in the world to be my best friend. Thank you for everything, Margo."

"Now you're gonna make a grown woman cry," she laughed as she hugged me back.

"Once I'm feeling better, I'll deliver the signed divorce papers to Harry's office and right after, there is somewhere I need to be."

"Where?" she asked.

"The tattoo shop."