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After a quick dinner (sans Dani, unfortunately) followed by a shower and feeding my cat, I’m more than ready to crash into bed; I always sleep better after Dani leaves, if for no other reason than she always seems to wear me out in the best way. So I’m annoyed when my cell phone starts to vibrate on the side table just after I’ve plugged it in to charge for the night, frowning as I reach to click on the lamp and feeling it turn into a scowl when I notice the name.

“Hello?”

“Took you long enough to answer.”

I purse my lips. “Hello, Alexander. Good to talk to you too.”

“Cut the shit, Ezra,” he huffs. “Did you go over Lorenzo’s financial records yet?”

“I’ve been going over them all week. You already know this.”

“I heard Bianca hired Danica Pierce.”

“Yes, I’ve heard.”

Then I heard Dani moaning on my couch, I don’t say.

“Best news we’ve got this week,” my father chortles. “She’ll make it an easy win.”

I bristle at that. “Don’t be too sure. She’s won against me before.”

“Only because you got sloppy.”

I feel hot anger bloom in my chest, but I tamp it down. I learned early in life that you don’t talk back to Alexander Hart.

“Is there any other reason you called so late?”

“We’re holding mediation next week,” he tells me.

“Does Dani—” I hesitate, correcting myself from calling her so casually. “Has Danica’s firm cleared this?”

“No, but you’re going to make sure they do. Lorenzo wants this taken care of quickly. He’s already got a settlement plan laid out that you can offer Bianca. She’s got her own money. She shouldn’t put up much of a fight.”

She might since her husband is a cheating bastard, I don’t say.

“I’ll reach out to their office and set a meeting on Monday.”

“Good.” I can hear my father settling into the large leather wingback in his study, hear the strike of a match as he most likely lights up a cigar. “You know how important it is that we take care of this for Lorenzo. He’s an old friend of mine.”

Like I care.

“I don’t need the reminder,” I scoff. “I can handle it.”

“Don’t get smart. I can still give the case to your brother. At least I know he won’t fuck anything up.”

My teeth grind together at the thought of Eli, my older brother and Alexander’s perfect, asshole firstborn, in the courtroom with Dani.

“I said I’ll handle it,” I answer tightly.

“See that you do. Don’t get sloppy.” There’s a brief pause before he continues. “Your mother wants you to come to dinner this week.”

I grip the phone a little tighter, the mention of my mother always setting off waves of sadness that I can barely swallow. “I’ll try to come by.”

He hangs up without so much as a goodbye, and I angrily toss my phone back on the side table as I fall back against the pillows. I tell myself that at least I’ll get to annoy Dani first thing Monday morning.

It’s that thought that has me smiling as I drift off to sleep.

OceanofPDF.com

Four

“Bill isn’t coming?”

My mother makes a disgruntled sound, rolling her eyes in my father’s direction. Her black hair, which looks so much like mine save for the slight streaks of gray, is pulled into a high ponytail, her perfectly tailored brow tilted high. “He’s playing golf with a client.”

“Oh?” Dad gives her a look over the brunch menu. “Did he ever snag the Feinstein account?”

“He’s still ‘reeling that one in,’ he says,” Mom laughs. “Patty have a class today?”

“Pottery,” Dad tells her. “She started up a daddy and daughter art hour or something.”

Mom practically coos, “Oh, that’s lovely.”

I watch all of this unfold with the morbid fascination one might reserve for two different species interacting with each other in the wild. In my professional experience, separated couples usually tend to, well, stay separated when they divorce. It’s the natural order of things. They aren’t supposed to remain best friends. They aren’t supposed to meld into this weird foursome of solidarity with themselves and their new spouses.

But that’s exactly what my parents did.

Until I was seventeen, I thought that Perry and Katherine Pierce had the perfect marriage. They did everything together; we were a unit. I thought the sun rose and set on their love for each other. That is…until they sat me down and told me they were getting a divorce. That they would still be friends—but they just weren’t in love. Just like that. Like they were telling me what we were going to have for dinner that night. One minute they’re the perfect couple, and the next, they’re telling me they never actually loved each other at all. At least, not like I thought they did. Regardless, I learned a long time ago that good marriages don’t really exist. They’re all destined to end.

I take a sip of my water, listening to my mom and dad continue to chat about varying news regarding their respective spouses. Don’t get me wrong, my stepparents are great, but it’s still weird that we all spend every holiday together like some warped version of The Brady Bunch.

“So have you met your client yet?”

I blink, realizing my dad is talking to me now. “Oh, have you remembered I’m here? I wouldn’t want to interrupt family time.”

“Oh, stop your pouting, Danica,” Mom tuts. “We were just catching up.”

“You talk on the phone almost every day,” I grumble.

Dad laughs. “You don’t talk to your best friends on the phone every day?”

I don’t even want to begin to try to get into the weirdness of my mother being my father’s best friend while they’re both married to someone else.

“Yes, I’ve met the client,” I say instead, changing the subject. “She’s…a character.”

“That’s what Manuel said too,” Dad says. “ ‘A real ice queen’ were the words he used, I believe.”

I frown, not liking that assessment of Bianca. It doesn’t feel right.

“I would say she’s more of a…powerful woman,” I tell him, a slight smile on my lips. “I like her.”

“Well, you’d better,” Dad snorts. “If you can’t prove her husband was a cheating son of a bitch, she’ll be out millions.”

“I heard she doesn’t even need the money,” Mom points out. “Why is she fighting the prenup so hard?”

It’s a question I’ve heard numerous times since Bianca signed on with us. It’s even one I’ve wondered about myself—despite having talked to the woman in question. But it’s also one I’m still not sure I have the full answer to, so I just shrug.

“Who cares? If he cheated, he deserves to be hung out to dry.”

“Hear, hear,” Dad says, raising his mimosa.

I cock an eyebrow at him. “Maybe you should make that your last one.”

“Oh, don’t be a square, Danibaby,” he chides. “We’re celebrating, remember?”

I snort into my water glass. “Seems you two are celebrating a lot more than I am.”

“Well, we can fix that,” Mom says with a snap of her fingers. “Let’s get something covered in syrup and more mimosas!”

“We really don’t need any more—”

My lips press closed as I realize everything I’m saying is going in one ear and out the other, since Mom is already waving down a waitress and Dad is tipping back his glass to finish off the rest of his second drink. I swear, sometimes it feels like I’m the parent in this group and Mom and Dad are the unruly children I have to keep a firm hand on. You’d never know that Dad is a retired judge and Mom a tenured professor, watching them act out like they are.