Page 76 of Denim & Diamonds

I felt myself smile. “That’s amazing, man!”

Maddox had been dealing with an old sports injury for some time now, and it had been impeding his ability to work his construction job. While he owned part of the business, he did a lot of hands-on work, too.

“You still good to fill in for me at the site while I’m out of commission?” he asked.

“Yeah. Of course. Anything you need.”

“That really means a lot, man.”

“Anytime.”

“And I can count on you to pick me up from the hospital and shit? Take me back to your place until I can recover? I hate asking you to do that, but it’ll be easier than you having to come to my house with Oak.”

“Yeah. Whatever. Don’t worry about it. When did they schedule your operation?”

“Well, they had one opening and said if I didn’t take it, I’d have to wait two months. So it was a no-brainer. The surgeon is super booked. It’s on a Friday, two weeks from yesterday.”

“Cool.”

But almost as soon as I’d said that, I realized what that Friday was.

The weekend of the wedding in New York.

CHAPTER 16

February

“I’m getting divorced.”

I shook my head with a chuckle as my assistant walked into my office. Oliver had on a purple-checkered three-piece suit with a hot pink tie and matching hanky. His thick, horn-rimmed glasses sat on top of his head.

“Good morning to you, too. And you shouldn’t throw stuff like that out into the universe. No one else would put up with you.”

He slumped into the guest chair on the other side of my desk. “I sat on the gosh darnporcelainthis morning, and it was cold andwet!”

My nose wrinkled. “What are we talking about here? And I wish you would start cursing again already.Gosh darnsounds bizarre coming out of your mouth.”

“Antonio usedmybathroom. And no, I’m no longer a truck driver. This is the new me. I speak like an aristocrat now.”

“With a Brooklyn accent…”

The week before I left for Sierra Wellness Center, Oliver and I had showed next year’s spring handbag line at a fashion show. We were backstage rushing to get things ready when the one and only Donatella Versace had walked in. Oliver hadn’t noticed her enter the room and was busy barking curses at a vendor who’d shown up late with one of the outfits a model was supposed to wear. Donatella was gracious and complimented our line, but before she left, she told Oliver he was handsome but would be even more so if he didn’t use suchfoul language.

“I’m not sure I can handle you talking like an altar boy.” I shrugged. “But back to your divorce. You and Antonio don’t share the bathroom?”

“Definitelynot. We have three bathrooms—the one in our bedroom is for communal peeing.” He clasped his hands together and then lifted the top one to demonstrate a lid opening. “That seat stays up at all times.” He gator-chomped his hands closed. “The other two are for pooping—his and his poop stations. Antonio uses the one in the guest room, and I use the one in our mother-in-law bedroom. This morning, I went to usemy bathroom, and the seat was up! My boar of a husband not only violated our potty pact, but hesprinkled when he tinkled!”

I shook my head. “I think you’ll get over it. Besides, you would shrivel up and die without Antonio, and you know it. Who would cook your breakfast and dinner every day? Who would prepare your morning cappuccino exactly as you like it, with one-point-five teaspoons of sugar—God forbid it betwoteaspoons—and a dash of cocoa powder? Who would make your welcome home lemon-drop martini at six fifteen promptly every day? Who—”

Oliver held a hand up. “Whose side are you on?”

“Yours, always. But you’re making a mountain out of a molehill. You should be happy that youhavea partner—one who moved from Italy just to be with you and has stuck around for twenty years even though you threaten divorce three times a week.” I frowned. “I can’t even get a man to move here from Maine.”

“Oh, honey.” He leaned forward and patted my hand. “I told you I’d show you my secret blow-job techniques. My flute recitals can make a man give up living in a ten-bedroom palace in Milan for a three-bedroom dump in Queens.”

Antonio really had lived in a ten-bedroom house in Italy, but the three-bedroom place in Astoria his family had bought them as a wedding gift was far from a dump. The inside could’ve been featured inArchitectural Digest.

I sighed. “I wish it were that simple.”

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