"Shut up! Just shut up!" His voice was so harsh it stunned me into silence. "First of how dare you use your sick mother as a tool in your own greed. Now you're telling me you love me! You think I am that dumb!"
"B-but. When you said we belong together."
"How can I love someone as deceptive as you? Someone who's willing to lie to get what they want."
That cut to the bone. He doesn't love me. He doesn't love me. What was I thinking. What a stupid, naive little girl you are. Why did I think he was in love with me? I had fooled myself into believing something that was not real. "It's the truth."
"Yeah, sure whatever."
Tears streamed down my face. I turned away so he wouldn't see, but it was too late. He scowled when he saw them. He thinks I am faking it. That made me cry even more. He doesn't love you. You fool. You stupid little fool. Carey climbed out of bed and marched to the bathroom. The banging of the door, a loud enough signal of his anger.
I dragged myself out of bed, my legs feeling numb and my pussy buzzing from all the sex we just had, and picked up my dress. Carey’s phone rang as I was putting it on. Might as well dress faster before he came back to answer his phone, I thought. But I was too slow. He came back just as I was zipping it up. He strutted in, nakedly confident, and answered on what felt like the last ring.
“Nolan. What’s up?”
I could only hear the muffled sounds of his brother’s voice, but the sudden fall in Carey’s face gave me pause. He ended the looked down. His voice was so low, I barely heard him.
“My father. He’s dead.”
Chapter 25
Carey
Two years later.
"I WANT Adivorce," she announced as soon as I entered the apartment. She was dolled up in her usual Upper East Side socialite Chanel get up. A pink and white skirt suit with a silk blouse and white pumps to finish the ensemble. Her curls were left untamed in contrast to the buttoned up suit below which made her sexy in an effortless way. That familiar desire to ravage her against any furniture came over me once more and try as I might to clamp it down, it was becoming harder and harder as the days went by.
"What did you say?"
She dropped some sheets of paper on top of the living room table and I watched them as they made a soft clutter sound onto the glass. "I've already done everything else. All you need to do is sign."
"Excuse me? It's not every day that a man is given divorce papers while coming home from work. Can I ask why?"
She shrugged. "Is there a reason we should remain married? Your father's dead. And my moth— this marriage is no longer necessary. We've been living like roommates-worse like roommates who hate each other-for years. We're better off apartthan together. I won't disparage your name in the media. That's part of the agreement. I will support you whenever you run and as for the money," she took a deep breath, "I only want what I was owed in the prenup." It sounded like a rehearsed speech.
My gaze went to the open windows. Tiny square lights from the buildings surrounding us twinkled in the dark. I spent the better part of the day closing a difficult case that was making headlines. We won and everyone at the office was celebrating. I was even thinking of taking Thalia out for dinner like we used to do when we pretended to act like a normal couple. It wouldn’t hurt to pretend once more.
But I should be happy she's asking for a divorce. This is what I wanted right? Freedom from the last cloying remnant of my father's helicopter parenting.
"How generous of you."
She flashed a tight smile. "I try my best."
I dropped my coat and briefcase and picked up the papers. "How long have you been thinking about this," I said as I looked them over. Everything was in order. She has probably seen a good lawyer. Possibly someone not in our circle or I would have heard at least a whiff about it.
"A couple of years."
Translation: after your father died. I guess since whatever money she was getting from him had dried up, she decided it was no longer necessary to be with me. I flipped through the papers looking for the settlement clause. I scoffed when I got to it. What she wants is very little. A pittance. It’s even less than what's agreed in the prenup. Yeah, right. The math was not adding up.
"Zero assets in the settlement? A million dollars in cash?" If she thought I was going to believe this bullshit settlement, she was lying to herself. I was tired. The case I was working on drained all of my energy all of which I needed to look overthis document carefully. "You're going to have to give me some time."
"Good. In the meantime, I will be moving out."
I noticed the suitcase next to her for the first time. It was bigger than an overnight bag. She was serious about this. She had planned everything I had to give her that. But I couldn't let her go. There was a strong sense within in me to tell her she couldn't leave, but why? I've never wanted this marriage. I should be happy. Popping bottles and throwing a divorce party. I've looked forward to this day ever since my wedding and now that she was practically handing me the keys to freedom, instead of celebrating, empty dread envelops me.
"You're not going anywhere," I heard myself say. Thalia cocked her eyebrows. Even she was surprised by the heavy emotion in my voice. One would think I was a rejected husband desperate to hold on to his failing marriage, but that was further from the truth. And yet, as I spoke, I realized I couldn't let her go. "You still have time within your contract, remember?" Her eyes widened. She was so beautiful, I wanted to instead take her in my arms and kiss her. Kiss away whatever this emotion I was feeling and fuck each other back to reality.
"You know about that?" she barely whispered.
