Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
“However, Judge Gaston had better be glad I didn’t two-piece his wife. See, that punch was on behalf of my wife, Madison.” As a sea of faces stared at me, I got into attorney mode.
“On Monday, I will file charges against the DuValls for alienation of affection.” I straightened my tie and then cut through the rise of murmuring. “As you all may know, my son spent two years on life support. We barely held on. However, at my son’s funeral, Bridget DuVall’s words cut much deeper than this shiner. Emotional trauma carries a much heavier weight.”
Bridget glanced around frantically. “What? This is ludicrous. I didn’t—”
“She said …” My voice rose with enough acumen to let everyone know I was judge, jury, and executioner. “She said, my wife is childless, which technically is true. My wife is without her child through no fault of her own. But Bridget DuVall took it a step further. She took her word back and declared my wife childfree, insinuating that it was Madison’s decision. That Madison chose not to have a child. That she was happy to be free.”
Gasps came from the couples all over. From the vines. From the offended wisteria. I nodded. “That word, childfree, planted a seed in Madison’s mind. Undid every happy moment we had with our son. Erased him. It erased my love and affection for her. She didn’t want me anymore. Didn’t believe she deserved love. She blamed herself for our son’s death. Blamed herself for an accident that was out of our control. The very next day, Madison filed for divorce. This woman ruined my marriage!”
Gaston laughed. “You’re reaching.”
His wife tried a new tactic, sobbing, “I meant nothing by what I said.”
I stomped my foot like a pimp turned pastor catching the Spirit. “Guilty! And Gaston, don’t play with me. I’ll file a lawsuit so devastating I’ll be sipping espresso in your house in Rome, dressed in your robe while smoking your Cubans.”
DuVall cleared his throat. “Washington, son. I’m not gonna press charges because of the punch. It’s water under the bridge.”
“I must not have made myself clear. I’m going to own every asset you’ve ever touched. Hell, you’ll be asking the judge if you can at least keep your middle name. Spoiler alert, the judge will say no. Look at everybody around you. I’ve convinced some. The rest of them are racist as the day is long. So, let’s see who’s victorious in a court of law.” I shrugged, then took Madison’s hand, turning to leave. “If you’re Black or Hispanic, got a little color in you, Gaston will sell you out for his buddies in the long run. If you’re white and you woke? Don’t vouch for this man.”
Madison smiled up at me, the warmth of her smile spreading across her face before she kissed me. “You know that was longer than seven minutes, right?”
“You agreed to …”
She was already slipping out of my arms to grab a bottle of wine. Then another. “Now, you’ve gotta lick two bottles of wine off me. Moscato and Chardonnay.” She grimaced at the label on the Chardonnay. “You better not say I taste dry and oaky, either.”
By the time the elevator doors closed, Madison was still laughing. Her quiet, breathless, uncontrollable little laugh came from her chest, not her throat. The kind she tried to hide behind her hands, but I took one and kissed the back of her wrist.
“Bébé, you know I wasn’t kidding earlier about pouring this wine on you.”
“I know.” Her soft whisper echoed in the elevator, cheeks flushed.
Our suite hinted of the vineyard outside and that scent of something honeyed that clung to Madison’s skin. Soft evening light stretched through the windows and onto the bed. An invitation.
“Wash,” Madison murmured, fingers sliding up my chest as she unbuttoned my suit jacket. “We technically had our loophole but … you know me. I hate routine. So, I have another workaround.”
My brow arched. “What’s that?”
“You start from the back.” She slipped a scarf from her purse and let it dangle from one finger. “And then when you’re ready to move around … you wear this.”
A laugh rumbled low in my chest. I took her hand, spun her gently until her back fit against me. She tilted her head and swept her hair over to leave her neck vulnerable. I kissed the spot she offered, tasting the sweetness, slow and savoring. Then I licked, but my nip left her breathless, her breasts rising as she hitched.
After trembling back against me, she reached forward, offering me all that arch while grabbing a bottle from the nightstand.
I took it. “I see you haven’t forgotten how to get what you want, chère,” I murmured against her skin.
Her laugh trembled, soft and fragile. “I want you.”
Those three words undid every defense I never needed.