A laugh bubbles in the back of my throat as I imagine the entire crew scattered about the manor with their ears pressed to walls and doors, working hard to get the scoop.
Vincent inches forward, and that’s when I notice his leather loafers are off and he’s tiptoeing barefoot toward the study. I can’t tell whether his motive is simply to hear better or to be ready in case Linc needs backup, but I bend down and unbuckle my heels too.
“For ten years?” Julian sucks his teeth loudly. “Nah. She could’ve left any time she wanted to.”
I grab my heels, holding them by the straps, and tiptoe closer too, trying to catch up to Vincent, who’s got his ear pressed to the door.
“Who, the divorcétante? I’m pretty sure she said you made her feel invisible and underappreciated.Yikes!”Linc laughs, and I couldn’t love him more. “‘Couldn’t be happier to be a walkaway wife,’ I think she said. ‘IwishI’d left sooner.’”
The tension is thick, and my heart is poundingsofast.
I just know this isn’t going to end well.
“Damn, Julian. The woman had to go and reinvent herself because you made her feel like she was disappearing in your marriage.”
I adore Linc for watchingThe Divorcétante Chronicles.
But then he hammers the nails into the coffin. “Rest assured, though, Jules, I see her, and my plan is to spend every day and night for the rest of my life appreciating the hell out of her perks—”
“You sorry motherfucker, that’s mywifeyou’re talking about…” Julian’s grunt is followed by furniture scraping against the floor, then shuffling footsteps. There’s scuffling, stumbling, and heavy breathing as he continues cursing Linc.
PUNCH!
Someone groans, crashing into furniture.
In the hall, I’m on pins and needles, debating whether to enter the room.
“Ex-wife, you mean!” Linc corrects him, feet still moving. “Because you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants. Didn’t anyone ever tell you about the eighty/twenty rule? You had a hundred at home.”
PUNCH!
Again, one of them coughs and groans, sounding like he’s taking an absolute beatdown, but he’s too stubborn to know when to step back.
“See how I extended my arm while rotating to make sure my fist lands with my knuckles?” Linc chuckles like he’s unfazed. “I hope you’re taking notes there, buddy, because that was a weak-ass punch you threw.
“That’s for Ebony.”PUNCH! PUNCH!“And that’s for making her sit back and deal with your sorry ass while you were fucking around with Hillary Winston and Nora Whitfield. And whoever the hell else.”
I gasp, my heartbeat thumping in my ears.
Suddenly, the dull thud of a fist connecting with flesh and bone cracks the air, and then a body hits the ground with a thunderous crash.
“Oof!” Julian groans. “Fuck you, Linc. You’re going to hear from my lawyer.”
“And say what? That you threw the first punch?” Linc counters.
On autopilot, I turn the doorknob and swing the door open. I don’t have the energy to assess the damage to the room or my disgusting ex-husband laid out on the floor, choking and coughing. I don’t care about him.
My attention is fixed on Lincoln looking unruffled and directly at me.
“You said Hillary.” The words squeak out of me, weak, even to my own ears.
Linc takes wide strides, rushing to my side, his expression urgent and panicked. “Baby, that’s what I tried to tell you that night at the bar. I saw Julian with Hillary, and I was going to tell you.”
A sharp pain tightens my chest.
That was three years ago.
My mind winds back to all the dinners and events where Hillary would laugh and joke with Julian, their conversations always so effortless and comfortable. I remember thinking,How lucky am I thatmy friends love my husband so much?They always seemed so at ease with each other. But now, I guess I know why.
