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“Isabel.” Ruslan’s voice is clipped and blunt and leaves absolutely no room for argument. “We are not losing custody of those kids. When’s the hearing?”
She sighs and picks up the papers I want nothing to do with. “Three days from now.”
Ruslan nods. “We’ll be ready.”
Honestly, I’mthisclose to bursting into tears. The only thing that stops me is Ruslan. When he hears my terrified sniffle, he grabs both my hands and forces me to face him. “Emma, look at me.”
I can’t bring myself to do it, though. I just shake my head and stare at the floor as I do my damndest not to picture how it would feel to have the kids ripped away from me. “I thought this was over.”
He squeezes my hands hard. “It will be soon. I didn’t expect your parents to be quite so stubborn—but unfortunately for them, I’m the definition of the fucking word. You have nothing to worry about. They’re not getting their hands on those kids.”
I finally look up at him, willing myself to have the kind of confidence he seems to have been born with. “But—”
“No buts,” he interrupts firmly. “We’re going to go to this hearing and you’re going to show your parents exactly what you’re made of.”
My bottom lip trembles as he pulls me into the circle of his arms. It’s hard to believe anything can go wrong when he’s holding me like this.
“I’m gonna be with you every step of the way, okay?” he murmurs, his voice a rumble that reverberates through me.
I nod against his chest.
There’s nothing else I can do but trust him.
* * *
I’ve been trying to breathe for the past half an hour, but the oxygen seems to be getting stuck somewhere north of my lungs. Air passes my lips, but my body feels starved and desperate for more, more, more of it.
That probably has a little something to do with the fact that my parents are sitting on the bench opposite me with their fancy ass lawyer at their side. They both look ridiculous. Barrett in his tweed blazer and his oversized Hublot. Mom in her silk blouse and mink stole.
“I think we missed the memo to wear our finest chinchilla furs,” Ruslan whispers to me in a sarcastic aside.
I suppress a smile and glance at the well-dressed woman sitting next to my mother. “Their lawyer is supposed to be one of the best.”
Ruslan snorts. “If she was one of the best, she’d be onmypayroll.”
“How can you be so confident?”
“Because we have this in the bag.”
I wish his confidence was catching; I could really use some right now.
Judge Kennedy clears her throat and bangs on the gavel. “Today’s docket concerns a custody dispute over the placement of three minor children—Joshua, Reagan, and Caroline Ziegler. Mr. and Mrs. Carson, you’re petitioning the court for custody of said minors to be taken from their current guardian—your daughter, Miss Emma Carson—and transferred to you. Do I have that information right?”
Beatrice gets to her feet. “Yes, your honor.”
The judge scrutinizes my mother through her long eyelashes. “There’s no need to stand when you reply, Mrs. Carson.”
“I understand, your honor.” Of course, she stands when she says that, too, so it’s anyone's guess what she understands.
The judge frowns and turns her attention down to the custody documentation that Isabel handed her when we walked in.
“Hm. The problem is, the paternal father of the children has signed over his rights to your daughter,” Judge Kennedy acknowledges.
Beatrice looks towards her lawyer. I can only imagine how much she cost. The Dolce power suit she’s wearing screams,I make my living by fleecing wealthy clients without a leg to stand on.
With a sigh, the lawyer gets to her feet, adjusting her jacket along the way. “Your honor, if I may, my clients were only recently made aware of the transfer of parental rights—”
“That’s not really the court’s problem now, is it, Ms. Danes?”
