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“Good night Evie.”
She shut the door behind her, leaving me standing in the hall. I had always been in control, but she had a way of making me feel off-kilter. Like I was one step away from losing everything. No one had ever made me feel that way before.
I headed back to my room. The business with Cormac was disturbing. There was no way in hell I would allow that fucking bastard to touch Evie, let alone marry her.
I removed the towel from around my waist and slipped into bed. My mind raced with thoughts from Bilderberg and the divorce to the Circle of Kings and Cormac Sullivan, but it kept returning to one thing in the end.
Evie.
* * *
The following morning, I sat looking out over the city, sipping my tea. My private chef had arrived and made enough food to feed a small army. I had no appetite, and it sat on the counter, getting cold.
I had just picked up the newspaper to read it, being old-fashioned enough not to like the digital copies, when the bell on my private elevator dinged.
Alan was here.
I stood up and headed to the hallway, adjusting the sleeves on my black Italian suit. Evie was making her way down the stairs. She was dressed in the black dress from the night before and had pulled her hair back into a ponytail.
“Good morning,” I said as the elevator doors opened. “Did you sleep well?”
She smiled. “Yes, thank you.”
Alan stepped out of the elevator along with another lawyer.
“Good,” Alan said, setting his briefcase down. “We’re all here. Evie, this is John Roberts. He’s part of our legal team and will be representing you.”
“It’s a pleasure, Mrs. Wilson,” John said, shaking Evie’s hand.
“What do you mean representing her?” I asked at the same time as Evie.
“Why would I need representation?” she continued. “And it’s Young, not Wilson. We’re hardly married.”
Alan held his hands up. “It’s a bit more complicated. Let’s sit down so we can talk.”
The men stopped at the counter and got themselves coffee.
“You should eat something,” I said to Evie. “You look pale.”
“No, I couldn’t eat anything. My stomach is in knots.”
We sat down at the glass dining room table. “How is this complicated? I thought we just had to submit paperwork?”
“Aye, well, in order to apply for a simplified procedure, you would have to have lived separate lives for at least a year,” Alan explained. “Which you have not.”
“So now what?”
“We’ll have to apply for a regular divorce through the sheriff court. Even then, you will have to prove an irretrievable breakdown of the marriage,” Alan continued.
“And how do we do that?”
“You can’t unless one of you wants to claim abuse or adultery. It would ruin both of your reputations.”
“You could say I was the abuser or a cheater. I don’t care,” Evie said desperately.
“It’s not that easy, lass. They would want witnesses.” Alan gave her a sympathetic look. “Which we don’t have.”
“So, then, what can we do?” I asked.
