"And I still want you to divorce him. I still want you to be my wife."
There are other things I have to say that will have her looking my way, just like she's doing now.
"Mr. Everford—" Her lovely face is distraught, and her tone perfectly matches it.
"I'm not going to ask you to sign something that's a complete lie. But I can also tell you right now that in less than a week's time, he’ll ask you to sign something else."
"W-What do you mean by something else?"
"Irreconcilable differences."
"Oh." She slowly nods. "T-That's fine with me."
"And if he asks that you waive any claim on his assets in return?"
This time, she answers without hesitation. "I don't care. I don't want anything from him."
I knew she'd say that, but to hear her actually say the words is something else, and I have to grit my teeth against the urge to lean forward and kiss her.
Patience, Everford.
Nicole won’t be the girl I’ve wanted my whole life if she were the type to easily ignore her vows, regardless of how unfaithful her douchebag of a husband is.
But all the same, I think it’s best to warn her—
“Give it a week at most,” I tell her.
“A...week?”
“Before he starts singing a different tune.”
“Oh.”
“But until then I'll be moving to my office—”
Nicole looks upset again. “It’s not right—”
“I can’t promise not to make a move on you if I stay here.”
She shuts up.
“It will only be a week,” I say gravely. “I know it will be hard not to see me for so long—”
A choked laugh escapes her.
“But you’ll survive. You can spend the time thinking about what you’ll say to me...once you’re free of Pettyfer, and I’m going to ask you for the second time to be my wife.”
Chapter Fifteen
DAY ONE.
I wake up to the smell of breakfast, and it immediately reminds me of that morning...with him.
Let's leave it like that for now, Nicole.
The nurse who's bustled in introduces herself cheerfully as Judy. She's in her sixties, with cheerful brown eyes, an even more cheerful smile, and a small rose tattoo on the side of her neck that I have a feeling has a long story behind it. She has with her a wheeled tray similar to the ones in hospitals, and on it is the most luxurious at-home breakfast plate I've ever seen. There are pastries arranged on a little tiered stand like something out of an English afternoon tea, slices of ham and three different cheeses fanned out on a wooden board, a small jug of orange juice, another jug of something that looks like fresh-pressed apple, a teapot, a cafetière, a tiny dish of butter shaped into a curl, and a single peach cut so neatly into segments that I almost don't want to disturb it.
It's enough food for four people, possibly five, and it’s exactly the kind of breakfast I can easily imagine someone like Chase Everford would grow up having. It’s alsonotthe kind of breakfast acommoner—make that, an American commoner—like me is used to, but I love it all the same, and so does Judy, albeit for different reasons.