Page 19 of The Marriage Bid
“He was doing what he had to do. I hate him so much sometimes, but he was thinking of your future. Which you seem not to have put to good use, and now you’re throwing the only opportunity of setting yourself up with a comfortable life away.”
“I’m not going to use his connections to get ahead if that’s what you’re implying.”
“A smarter woman would. So, he’s agreed to the divorce?”
“That’s the thing. I thought he would. I mean, he’s practically lived as though he’s single, but he refused to sign the papers. We’ve never talked in the past five years. But he refused!”
“Curious,” she said.
“Apparently, the material Dad used to blackmail him will be triggered if we divorce. You should have seen him on the day of the wedding. He was furious. Whatever Dad had on him was big.”
“See. I told you your father was looking out for you.”
“He blackmailed a guy! And now that guy won’t grant me a divorce unless I uncover this blackmail material and whoever is holding it. Tyler thinks I’m the one holding it, if you can believe it.” I jabbed a morsel of my chicken with more energy than I intended and popped it into my mouth. It no longer tasted as good as before. Talk about Tyler had ruined my food.
“Interesting…”
That gave me pause. Whenever Aunt Pamela said ‘interesting,’ it usually meant there was more she knew, and she was hiding something. “Do you have any idea who could be holding the material?”
“Saff. You know I never involved myself in your father’s affairs. Maybe one of his friends or old associates,” she said, waving her hand dismissively.
If that was true, that was going to be hard. My father had a penchant for making enemies, and anyone who had business dealings with him was rooting for his downfall. As for friends, most of my father’s ‘friends’ were of the fair-weather variety and abandoned him when things got tough. That’s why he ended up resorting to sordid tactics when his business got in trouble.
“But do you have any idea who it could be?”
“I don’t even understand why you want to divorce him. Do you know he’s worth five billion dollars? That’s what the article said. Access to a shrapnel of that kind of wealth means you don’t have to work. Yet you persist in doing so and not—”
“Ugh, not this again.”
“You shouldn’t be working, Saff! You should be getting what’s owed to you! By your husband.”
“And I told you a million times before. I don’t want his money.” I shoved the plate away, appetite lost.
“It’s money you deserve.”
“But—”
Aunt Pamela waved me off. “Tell me at least that you asked for a generous settlement.”
“You’re forgetting he paid me a settlementbeforewe got married.”
“It’s what you’re owed.”
I let her have the last word even though I didn’t agree with her. She had never had to work for a living until she was in her fifties. And even then, she worked at a finishing school whereall she had to impart were etiquette lessons. For someone like her, with her background, it was the man’s duty to look after a woman, especially when that man was rich. It was clear in her disdain for the rich, spoiled kids she taught that she wished she could be them and not merely teach them.
I never understood why she didn’t remarry after her husband cut her off from the will and then died. The money she received from my father must have been enough, I guess, until everything went to dust.
I took out the cannoli and cherry pie, dished them onto two plates, and settled down to watch a game show with her. This part was much more fun than the dinner. The dessert I brought felt too little, and when it was time to go, I contemplated going to the patisserie Malaya had raved about the other day. It was along my route, and after rage-quitting the dinner and spending all day running around, I was still hungry.
It was late in the evening when I arrived, but they were still open. Malaya discovered this place a couple of weeks ago and loved coming here. It was a patisserie in a cute Rococo style that was unapologetically feminine. I loved the French retro decor. According to her, the food was just as good. I joined the short queue and soon I was at the front.
“Hi! What can I get you?”
I froze as I stared at the blonde woman. What the fuck was she doing here? And behind the counter too. Her bright smile should have been disarming, but it made my stomach turn. Was this? This must have been her shop. Suddenly, a memory came to me. A story about an item in this bakery going viral and the person who owned the shop was being interviewed. Ivy Sinclair. Tyler Hawthorne’s sister. Fuck. How did I forget?
“We have a special. The croiclairs are having their final run; you could order one if you haven’t eaten them.” Her customer-service voice jolted me to the present. My gaze darted around themenu board above her, then went to the pastries in the display case.
“Uh…” My mind was scrambling. Should I stay or should I go? It would be weird if I bolted out of here. But what if he were around? What if he’s somewhere in the staff area? The Hawthornes are a notoriously close family. But that didn’t mean he would hang around in his sister’s bakery. Calm down. It’s not like he’ll pop up from behind the counter. “Uh… yeah, I guess. Can I have one?”
