Tied Together (The Cade Siblings Duology #1)

Prologue

ALANA

“Are you really planning on eating all of that?”

I pause, my fork suspended in midair, a single piece of fettuccine Alfredo swirled around it and on its way to my mouth. After hesitating, I slowly lower my hand and place my fork back on my plate.

The words snap me out of the trance I had floated into while my boyfriend of three years, Brad, was droning on and on about something a coworker did to disrespect him today at work.

He’s sitting across the table from me at the intimate Italian restaurant he chose for our anniversary. I’ve been working overtime these last few months trying to convince myself that I hadn’t wasted the last three years of my life on someone, but tonight is proving that my denial is extensive.

Brad is a jerk. He is the kind of guy who makes coffee and leaves the pod in the machine for someone else to clean up. The kind who doesn’t say hello in an elevator or when passing someone in the hallway. He’s the kind of guy who listens to his phone on full volume in an airport with no headphones. The kind who doesn’t use his blinker before he changes lanes.

The kind of guy who asks a woman if she’s sure she should eat “all of that”, whatever that means.

He is a good looking guy, in a traditional sort of way. He’s around six feet tall, has blond hair and blue eyes and wears decent clothes. He always smells nice and has good hygiene. That used to be enough, but now I’m realizing that maybe it isn’t.

I’ve also noticed he tends to not only be annoying, but also extremely disrespectful. He didn’t show it much in the beginning of our relationship, but within the last year he seems to have gotten comfortable and is now showing his true colors.

We’re at a small table for two, tucked away in the corner. The candlelight flickers on his face as he stares at me, his brows furrowed in irritation as he waits for my response.

I shake my head to bring myself back to the present. “What was that?” I ask, giving him the opportunity to realize his mistake and take it back. “I zoned out there for a second.”

“Seriously, Alana? Have you heard anything I’ve said to you in the last hour?”

He knows I hate it when he uses my full name. My family and friends all call me Lana or Lan, but Brad says nicknames aren’t becoming, and it makes me seem immature .

“I’m sorry. What were you saying?”

I need to get us back on track and hide the annoyance in my voice, or this is going to turn into an all out war about my inability to pay attention when he speaks. He hates it when I space out.

“I said, are you really planning on eating all of that?” He gestures to the plate in front of me that was just delivered to the table. I tried to give him an out, but I guess he isn’t taking it. This restaurant has pretty big portion sizes, but I haven’t had much to eat today, so I am fully prepared to enjoy this entire meal.

Even if I had had plenty to eat today, I can still enjoy this entire meal. Not that I need to explain that to him, or anyone else for that matter.

“Um...yeah, I had planned on it.”

Brad has made comments like this before, but it’s hitting me a bit differently tonight. My ability to put up with him is probably something that should be studied at universities, because I don’t fully understand how I’ve done it for so long.

Unease and contempt begin to build in my stomach as the reality of this situation becomes clear to me. I’ve been tolerating an egotistical jerk for three years, and I don’t think I can do it anymore. Not only is it extremely frustrating, but I deserve so much more.

“I told you last week that you really need to watch what you eat. You’re always snacking, eating huge portions, and you’ve been getting takeout way too often. I have the company Christmas party in about two months, don’t you want to look your best?” He rattles this off like he’s had this speech prepared for a while now.

“Why do you feel like it’s your job to pay attention to my eating habits?” I snap.

Go me. I’ve never stood up to him like this before.

“Don’t be dramatic,” he says with an eye roll. He pulls out a black gift bag and places it in front of me. “I got you a gift.”

I shift a little in my seat, shaking off the bad feeling that was building and trying to calm myself down enough to get through this dinner.

I slowly pull away the paper and take out an emerald green dress. It’s a beautiful silk material and it feels smooth and cold against my hand.

I look a bit closer at the dress and notice it’s two sizes too small. I’ve been with the man for three years and he can’t even get my dress size correct.

I want nothing more than to start an argument right now, but we’re in the middle of a small restaurant and I don’t want to cause a scene. Plus if I decide to leave, which I’m pretty sure that’s where this conversation is headed, I don’t want to agitate him more than necessary. If I do, I know he’ll follow me out and that will just make it more difficult to go get my things from our apartment and get out.

“The gift is lovely, but I’m a size twelve, not an eight. Where did you get it? I’m sure we could exchange it,” I say, trying to keep the peace.

“Oh, come on, Alana. Of course, I’ve realized the weight you’ve put on in the past few months. Like I said, the firm’s Christmas party is coming up and I’m going to need you to lose at least ten pounds before then,” he says nonchalantly as he stabs his grilled chicken with a fork.

I’d like to stab him with that fork.

Who eats grilled chicken at an Italian restaurant?

“This dress is a great goal to work towards. If you can fit into it by then, there might even be a ring in it for you.”

The intense revulsion that I feel towards receiving a ring from this man is more than enough proof that I cannot continue in this relationship. I’m not even sure why I let it go on this long.

I guess the security of it and the constant companion was enough of a pull. At the beginning of our relationship, Brad had been kind. We met through mutual friends and he won me over with his humor and charm. We moved in together after dating for just a few months and it was a sweep-you-off-your-feet romance. As time went on, though, things changed and he got a new job in a big corporate office. The men there were brutal and cutthroat and he soon took on those qualities as well, leaving the funny and charming guy I met in the dust.

“Don’t start with me. This is supposed to be a nice dinner to celebrate. Let’s just focus on that,” he says.

Normally, I would let it go. Normally, I would brush it under the rug, eat half of my dinner, and let him lead me out of the restaurant like the good little girlfriend I’m supposed to be. But I am done being his doormat.

“You can’t just say something like that and then move on like nothing happened. I will not be spoken to that way, and to be honest, I am not okay with the way you’ve been speaking to me at all recently.”

Well, there goes keeping the peace . I take a deep breath and wait for his response. He stares at me like he has no idea who I am.

“I’m only trying to better you. You will be more respected if you look a certain way. I’m just looking out for you.”

Alright, I’m out.

I stand, and push away from the table abruptly. I calmly set my napkin down next to my plate and look into his eyes as I speak.

“Brad, we’re done.”

I turn to grab my purse from the small stand that sits by the table and when I glance back at him, he’s staring at me blankly. It seems I’ve shocked the man speechless. A miracle.

The sound of the chair’s legs scraping against the mahogany flooring must fix his momentary silence, such a shame, because he speaks as I get ready to leave.

“Absolutely not. Sit down right this minute.”

“You aren’t my father. You’re extremely disrespectful, you’re rude to others and to me, you make comments and say things that have absolutely no business coming out of your mouth, and I am done. I can’t do it anymore. You’ve changed and I don’t like who you’ve become.” I start to leave, but turn back before stepping away.

“Oh, and another thing, I lied. You can absolutely tell your hair is thinning. It looks ridiculous.”

I pass a table of women as I walk out with my head held high and they give me a small thumbs up, clearly having heard the whole thing go down. I take a deep breath and continue walking, but just before I reach the door I hear Brad shout from the table, “This isn’t over, Alana. I’ll call you.” I don’t grant him a response.

I step out onto the chilly streets of New York City, then pull my phone out of my purse and block his number. Next, I hit the name of the one person I want to talk to right now. The phone rings twice before she picks up, the sound of our favorite TV show, Vanderpump Rules , playing in the background.

“I dumped Brad. Can I stay over?”

Cami cheers so loud, I have to move the phone away from my ear. The heaviness in my chest dissipates the longer I hear her screams of joy, and it makes me thankful to have a best friend I can count on.

I hail a taxi and head back home so I can grab my things before Brad gets back. It’s time to stop morphing myself into something I’m not, just to make everyone else happy. I am going to focus on myself and find out what makes me happy. That means no more dating, no more men. I’ve become far too comfortable letting a man tell me what to do and how to feel. I am going to spend some quality time getting to know myself.