Page 16 of Sexting His Son's Ex
“The order has been dropped off.”
We always text in code. He is telling me that the body has been taken care of and they are on their way back. Perfect.
No one betrays me and gets away with it.
Ever.
5
JOVIE
Oh my god.
That was too close.
I press a hand against my wild beating heart when his car drives away. He was so nice, nicer than I’m being to him which only has me feeling worse about sending him flowers. No one sends a man like him anything—especially flowers.
Luca and I never talked about how much money he or his family had, but it didn’t take a rocket scientist to know they are extremely wealthy. Between the gifts Luca liked to get me and how he and his father dress, conversation isn’t needed when it’s obvious.
I never felt out of place financially with Luca. Even though I’m not a millionaire, the flower shop does very well. I live a comfortable life and all I can think about right now is what happens when Santino figures out the truth. Will he try to take away my business? How will he retaliate? The best-case scenario is that he never talks to me again and I don’t even want to think about the worst case.
The way his dark green eyes held mine is the only image in my head. I wouldn’t care if I got in trouble by him and it was that intense gaze staring me down. I’ve never seen a color like his eyes before. They are a dark green with black rings around the iris and the color itself reminds me of a forest at night. Lush green leaves hidden in the dark.
When Santino made that off comment about his looks, I couldn’t help myself. I had to tell him in some way that he was very good looking.
I could be wrong, but I’m positive, we were flirting which only makes me feel worse about sending him flowers. It was a joke at first and now the anger has passed. It isn’t funny anymore. It’s hurtful. Santino doesn’t deserve this.
“Get ahold of yourself, Jovie. You and him will never happen. Get that fantasy out of your head.” I move like a robot to snag the next order receipt and read what it says to try to get my mind off Santino.
“Tulips and daisies. A lot of them. I fucked up. Please make this bouquet amazing.”
I snicker at the note left on the printed receipt. I must get a handful of these per day. Significant others always rush to place an order when they fight with their partners. A lot of the times, they need something quick for an apology, but flowers don’t fix everything. Flowers shouldn’t be used to sway someone’s anger. The gift itself is a temporary fix. If someone’s partner only gets them flowers when they argue, where is the love there? Every day there is supposed to be a show of love, and it doesn’t need to be expensive flowers.
It can be a cute note. A cup of coffee. Playing a game together.
That’s where the love is.
Flowers, eventually die, just like apologies when promises aren’t kept.
Don’t get me wrong, I will always appreciate and admire a beautiful bouquet but that doesn’t change or fix the root of the problem.
Just like Luca tried to buy my love and loyalty with gifts, it didn’t fix the underlying problem of him cheating or wanting more.
Gathering the different colored tulips and bright white daisies with perfect yellow centers, I begin to place them in the tulip vase he added to his order. I love the flower shaped vases. They are more expensive and are from a lovely older gentleman who owns the pottery store down the road. I buy a few vases from him every week. They sell out more than the regular glass vases.
My phone dings with a message and I’m tempted to ignore it. I have an entire stack of orders to get through today. If I’m distracted, I’ll get behind and be unable to have these delivered on time.
Another ding has me sighing with impatience. I’m nearly done with the order. All I have to do is wrap a pretty ribbon around the vase and print the card with a special note on it for the customer.
The snap of scissors is music to my ears when I cut the sheer pink sparkly ribbon and tie it into a big bow. I step back, tilt my head, and grin when I realize it’s absolutely perfect. Picking it up, I set it down on the desk with the other finished orders.
Turning the button on my phone, the screen lights up, and my eyes round when I see a message from an unknown number.
My hands tremble when I pick up the phone, my face becoming hot with deceit.
Unknown Number: “Who is this?”
Unknown Number: “I have received two bouquet deliveries with this number on the card, and I need to know who you are. This is Santino Salvati. I don’t play nice with others if this is meant to be a threat.”
