“What’s this?”
I stared at the side of the house. “Come home.”
He sighed. “I’m not that far away.”
“Don’t care, you’re my husband. Come home.”
“If you’re going to act the way you did today”—his spine straightened—“maybe I don’t want to be your husband.” He stared at me with so much hurt I wasn’t sure what to say. I hated hearing those words.
“You were going to leave next month anyway,” I snarled, with so much venom it took me by surprise.
He stepped back and his mouth fell open. “You told me from the beginning that’s when I was leaving. You arranged it. No one ever asked me what I wanted. You and my dad forced me into it.” He jabbed my chest and the bag fell on the ground. The ruby ring rolled out and glimmered like a drop of blood on the concrete stoop. “Unless you forgot, I didn’t ask to be married to you, and you sure as hell never asked me for anything. You told me the whole way through, and you’re still telling me.”
That wasn’t fair, and I thought he knew it, too, because his chin wobbled. Since Christmas things had been sweeter between us, and I’d liked it a lot. Coming home at night had felt good. I picked the bag up and tossed it into the carriage house, and then I scooped the ring off the cold concrete and shoved it into his hand.
“If you feel this way, why wait? I have everything I needed. Why don’t I get the papers drawn up tonight? You can be free as soon as you sign them and we send them to a judge. Probably by tomorrow afternoon, if I grease a few palms.” I was feeling as if I was running toward the edge of a cliff, and I was shouting but couldn’t stop.
“Right now I’d sign anything,” he said coldly, and the boy who I’d first shoved into my car was back, the one who would happily stab me in my sleep—NoahDivine, not Noah Bouchard. “Whoever taught you how to apologize?”
“No one, sweetheart. I don’t apologize.” I backed him into the carriage house, and he gasped as he tripped over the bag and fell on his ass. “I don’t ask, I take. I ruin other people’s dreams and businesses and lives and I don’t give a fuck. That’s who you married. I’m not a nice fuckin’ person.” I was still shouting, but again, I couldn’t stop. “I’m not that bumbling bumpkin who left Texas. I’m not that stupid boy who believed everything was possible if you just tried hard enough and played by the rules. He died. He’s fuckin’ buried in a shallow grave along with all the other stupid ideological shit that holds people back. I’m all that’s left.” I spun and slammed the goddamned door after myself, vibrating with rage. If I’d stayed, I had no idea what I would’ve said or done.
The second I got back to the house, Antoine was at the front doors. “What did you do?” he asked, looking me over with a wrinkled nose.
“Get my fuckin’ lawyer on the phone. Now.”
“Yes, Mr. Bouchard.” The jerk had the nerve to look like I’d taken a swing at him.
“You know what? Never mind. I’ll call him myself, you fuckin’ traitor. Why don’t you go help Noah get his shit together so he can go home to Edison? I’m sure he’ll fuckin’ love to have his son back. Why don’t you stay there, too? You can keep the Divine Conglomerate from falling the fuck apart. I’m going to New York City after I sign the paperwork. I have a business to run.”
Slamming the front door felt so good that I slammed every door I came across until I was sitting behind my desk in front of my lawyer at nearly three in the morning. He had bags under his eyes as I signed the last line and initialed all the spots he’d flagged on the PDF of the divorce documents.
“I’ll send it to your husband.” He smiled tiredly and pushed up the gold-rimmed glasses on his nose.
I nodded and sat back to stare at the ceiling. “He’s not my husband.”
My lawyer laughed. “He is until the judge signs off. Fine, your ex-husband, then.” He gently closed my office door on the way out.
Ex-husbandsounded a whole lot fucking worse. Mama would never forgive me. I cupped my hands together over my nose and took deep breaths, but it didn’t help and my eyes stung.
“Fuck, I don’t have time for this.”
But I didn’t get up, and I didn’t leave, and I didn’t make the early flight I’d booked to go to the big city. I stared at the windows till the sun rose and checked my email compulsively until I finally got the one I’d been dreading from my lawyer. The message was only one line because my lawyer billed by the millisecond: It’s done.
Noah had signed.
I was right.
Of course I was right.I’m always right.
So why did everything feel so wrong? My landline phone rang and I cursed at Mama’s number on the display as I dragged it closer but didn’t answer. Instead I laid my head down on the desk and watched as it rang over and over again. I should’ve taken more time off work when we were in Texas. I should’ve come home earlier instead of working all those hours. Bought nicer lingerie. Taken pictures of him from every angle.
He’d been smiling more at me recently.
I wasn’t one to drag out the inevitable.
Make a decision.
Carry it out.
