Managing. He could have laughed. All of that—the sex, the drama, the heartbreak, the letter—and she was just managing? He'd rather she tell him she was blissfully in love than have her try to play it off so casually.

Now his fingertips drummed across the countertop. He so wanted to say something, something that would force her to acknowledge his pain and how bold she was to acknowledge him after leaving a hole in his hart, but she'd probably like that. She probably liked having that hold over him.

That's why he never wanted to fall in love. It never went well. He'd told Pettigrew that much two days prior.

"Good for you." His tone was bitter and he wished it wasn't; he couldn't help it, though. She was happy and he was not, and she'd been the one to decide it was going to be like that. He hated her for it.

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