A Secret for a Secret Page 43

“Yeah, well, if his train wreck of a fiancée could learn when to keep her damn mouth shut, we could’ve avoided a whole hell of a lot of unnecessary bullshit.”

He’s definitely not wrong about that. “He certainly knows how to pick ’em, doesn’t he?”

“Don’t do that, Queenie. You were eighteen years old, and you made a mistake that you tried to rectify, on your own, without support. It was one bad decision, and it doesn’t define who you are as a person.”

It’s not the one bad decision I made six years ago that’s the issue now; it’s that I’ve kept making decisions that haven’t gotten me any further away from the dependent part of my personality that I can’t seem to shake. But I’m trying to change that. Baby steps.

And doing this on my own is one more step in the right direction. I lean over and kiss him on the cheek. “I know. I appreciate you driving me here and being so supportive.”

I can tell he wants to say more, but I also know he wants to give me the chance to deal with this in my own way. “I’ll be here when you’re done.”

“You honestly don’t have to wait. I can Uber home.”

“Not a fucking chance, Queenie. If Corey pulls any bullshit, I’ll be right here.”

“I’ll be fine.” I shoulder my purse, checking again for the file folder. I’ve been doing that compulsively since I got in the car, as if it’s going to magically disappear and I’ll be married to Corey for the rest of my life.

Last night I had a dream that we were chained together and that our skin had started to fuse and I could never separate myself from him. I woke up screaming at four a.m. and did not go back to sleep. Hence I’m jittery, since I’ve had about seven cups of coffee.

Corey ends up being twenty minutes late, which is not a surprise. He also brings his fiancée along.

“Is the entourage necessary?” I ask as he drops down into one of the chairs at the table, not bothering to pull out a chair for Sissy.

“I want to read everything over to make sure you’re not trying to take my baby’s money,” she snaps.

I roll my eyes. “All I wanted six years ago was to separate myself from him completely, and if Corey hadn’t messed it up by not paying the damn filing fee, we wouldn’t be sitting here at all—”

“Ha!” Sissy barks out a fake laugh. “Of course you’re trying to make it Corey’s fault! We all know that it was you who took off without making sure the papers were properly filed. And he told me it was you who didn’t pay the fee, not him!”

Of course he’s spun it so it’s on me and not him.

“Is that what he told you?” I wave my own question away. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. You’ll find out soon enough what you’re getting yourself into.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Corey clears his throat, looking somewhere between annoyed and uneasy. “She’s trying to get under your skin, Sissy. Maybe you wanna go get yourself a coffee or something?” He pulls his wallet out of his back pocket and peels off a hundred-dollar bill.

Sissy snatches his entire wallet and pulls out a handful of bills, then tosses it on the table. “Coffee makes me have to pee. I’m going to Saks. Pick me up when you’re done.” She waddle-flounces out of the room.

“Hope you got a prenup.” I turn back to the lawyer, whose time we’re wasting. “Okay, let’s make sure this is done correctly this time so I don’t end up smeared all over the news for keeping you ‘tied down’ for another six years.” I make air quotes at Corey.

“You’re the one who ran away.” He takes the papers his attorney’s given him and flips through. “Whoa, hold on a second here. What’s this about a hundred K? I’m not giving you shit.”

“You might want to reconsider that, Corey, since you’re the reason we’re still married, and your fiancée launched an unfounded public smear campaign, which means I can no longer work for the team.”

“That doesn’t mean you deserve money!”

I snort, because that’s an epic joke. “The crap I’m dealing with as a result is the opposite of wonderful. The ironic thing is, if your fiancée didn’t air our dirty laundry to anyone who would listen, I would’ve signed these papers and asked for nothing. But now, after all this, asking for a hundred thousand dollars is small in comparison. I’m sure you can spare it from your endless bank account to help right your wrongs.” He opens his mouth to speak, and I hold up a finger. “Choose your words carefully, Corey, particularly in front of our lawyers. Do not think for a second that you can push me around or belittle me. I am not an eighteen-year-old girl anymore, and your BS isn’t something I intend to deal with ever again, after today. Remember, we’ve been ‘married’”—I use air quotes again for emphasis—“for six years, and we did not have a prenup. My lawyer told me I could technically go after half of your income from all those years if I wanted to. So do not push me.”

He has a whispered conversation with his lawyer, frowning the entire time. Eventually he huffs a breath. “Fine. You can have a hundred K: that’s chump change for me. Don’t spend it all on new tits.”

“Wow. You are absolutely disgusting. Good to see some things don’t change.” I scribble my signature on every page, slide them aggressively toward Corey, and slam the pen down in front of him, wishing I could stab him in the hand.

I wait until Corey signs each page, which takes forever since he writes like a six-year-old who’s half-asleep. Then he wire transfers the money directly to my account while my lawyer’s paralegal makes a copy of the papers for me. I gather my things and push away from the table, shaking the lawyer’s hand. “Thank you for freeing me from the shackles of misery.”

“You’re welcome.” He fights to hide a smile.

I hightail it out of the office and speed walk as calmly as I can down the hall. I just want to get as far away from Corey as possible.

“You still think your Boy Scout is gonna want my used goods?” he calls out after me.

I want to turn around and kick him in the balls, but we’re in a law office, and that would be grounds for some kind of charges, so instead I ignore him and keep walking.

I know I’ve made the right decision. While some may think I’m being opportunistic in asking him for that money, he cost me my job and a whole lot of dignity with the horrible things Sissy said about me. I have a right, after the public humiliation that follows me online and will probably follow me forever now. If anyone were to do a search of my name, they’d find this, and who knows what future damage that could cause.

I push through the door and step out into the cold, rainy day. I don’t run across the lot in a bid to outrun Corey, because he’s definitely faster than me, and also, running is exactly what he wants me to do. So I pop my umbrella, almost hitting Corey in the face with one of the sharp ends, and begin a leisurely saunter across the lot.

“Your Boy Scout coming to pick you up?” he mutters, then spots my dad’s car. “Or has he already dumped your crazy ass, and now you’re gonna live in your daddy’s pool house forever?”

I spin on my heel and tip my chin up so I can look him in the eye. “I wonder how you’d feel if you had a daughter and you heard someone speaking to her the way you are to me, right now. I hope Sissy has a girl, and I hope you actually give a shit about her so you’ll understand what it’s like to legitimately want to protect someone from others’ harm. I will never understand why you need to constantly tear people down to make yourself feel better about who you are.”

I don’t wait for him to process that comment, because I’m not sure he actually can. The driver’s side door of my dad’s car opens, and I physically feel Corey back off. The air is suddenly lighter, and it’s not such a struggle to move.

My dad rounds the hood, glancing in Corey’s direction. “You okay?”

“Fine. Good. Let’s just go.”

He opens the passenger-side door for me, and I slide into the seat.

“Queenie.” He’s gripping the frame of the car like he wants to tear something apart. Namely Corey.

I meet his gaze. “It’s done. I can’t move on if you can’t, so please, let it go.”

He exhales a breath through his nose but does what I ask. It isn’t until we leave the parking lot and are headed back toward my dad’s place that I allow all the emotions I’ve been holding on to out.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong? What happened?” My dad glances at me and back at the road as he reaches across the center console to squeeze my hand.

“I’m just relieved it’s over. That’s all. I want to be able to move forward, and having this whole thing hanging over my head this past week has made that impossible. Like there’s been a weight on my chest, and I can’t breathe.”

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