The Divorce Attorney Read online

  How bad of a person does it make me that I’m almost relieved his voice remains monotone as he describes his failed marriage? That it isn’t filled with lingering resentment or longing or any other emotion that would indicate he’s still harboring feelings toward his ex. His telling of it as simple fact comforts me somehow, and that’s so wrong.

  “I finally got clued in to our problems when I discovered her affair.”

  I wince.

  “Affair” sounds like an ongoing thing, a relationship. Not like when I walked in on Grant taking another woman to Tumble Town in the sheets I bought. Both are cheating, both hurt. But an actual relationship with someone other than your spouse sounds so much worse. I would see it as my husband choosing another woman over me. With Grant, he was just a weak horndog who couldn’t keep it in his pants.

  An affair is like saying I’d rather be with them than you. I married the wrong person.

  “I’m not sure exactly how long it had been going on,” he reveals. “Several months, at least. And then it happened. The one thing I’d been waiting for, asking her for.” He takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly. “She got pregnant.”

  I gasp, covering my mouth with my hand.

  He nods. “Yep. And I didn’t know if it was mine. She didn’t either. The possibility of me being the father banked on the one night we’d had sex in weeks, so I figured it was his. But because we couldn’t prove paternity until after the baby was born, I went to every doctor’s appointment with her and did everything else an expectant father would do. On the off chance that it was mine, I didn’t want to regret not being there when I should have been.”

  My heart is seriously splitting wide open for him.

  How awful that must have been. Waiting months and months to find out whether or not the child your wife carried was yours. Not knowing if you should be depressed or excited. I mean, even if their marriage was already down the tubes, at least he would have become a father like he’d always wanted. If it was his, of course.

  I move a little closer to him as we continue walking. “If it’s any consolation, you did the right thing.”

  He was silent for a few beats. “It didn’t matter much in the end. She had a miscarriage at five months. It was going to be a boy.” The monotone voice stops with that sentence and anguish creeps in.

  Oh, Carter.

  That might have been his son. Or it might have been another man’s. What a horrible thing to not know. And what a terrible woman to do that to him. I kind of want to track her down and claw her eyes out.

  “I’m so sorry.” I don’t know what else to say.

  “Life isn’t always fair,” he mutters, trying to play it off, but his voice is too flat for his words to be believable. “And my life completely changed after that. I found out that the other man actually had no idea she was married. She admitted to me she’d never told him. Apparently, he was devastated by the whole thing and immediately ended things with her, cut and dry. Not that it made me feel any better. I still hated both of them. She and I divorced right away, and I got out of corporate law.”

  He would have been younger back then, probably just a little older than I am now. I wonder how much he’s changed on the inside since then. How deeply did the end of his marriage affect him? I sure as hell don’t want to be that woman who’s jealous of the ex-wife, but I feel the green monster wriggling in at the idea that she once held that kind of power over him. Enough to turn him into a different person.

  “So, your divorce inspired you to handle those cases on a daily basis?”

  He rubs the back of his neck, looking almost uncomfortable. “Not exactly. I had a big corporate case shortly after the divorce that went on for months. It was…messy. And of course, it was taking place during the worst time of my life. I was bitter and resentful and full of hate. I don’t know, I guess by the time the case was over I wanted a change. Ironically, divorce law just kind of fell in my lap.”

  “Have you become one of those men who doesn’t trust women because he got hurt by one?”

  His expression turns sheepish, as if he got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “In the beginning I was. I refused to even consider getting close to another woman for a long time. Then I grew the hell up and realized not all women are soul-sucking vampires.”

  “I should probably go ahead and mention that I’m naturally this pale.”

  He laughs, even as his gaze makes a brief journey down my body. “I’ve seen you out in the daylight, darlin’, so I’m not worried about you.”

  A young guy on a skateboard whizzes past us on the sidewalk. Carter moves toward me to give him a wider berth, our arms grazing in the process.

  Our eyes find each other at the exact same moment.

  There was a current that just zapped through us, and we both clearly felt it. Like when you touch someone after walking across carpet and shock them with static electricity.

  Carter is the first to break the tether when he looks away. Then a chuckle escapes his mouth. “I think it’s my turn to ask you some psychologically revealing questions about your marriage now.”

  I nearly snort ice cream up my nose. “Shoot. I’m practically numb to the humiliation of it all by now.”

  He frowns, like that comment upsets him, but he doesn’t address it. “What made you marry him in the first place? I don’t know you well, but it doesn’t seem like the two of you would have…meshed.”

  I so badly want to ask why he thinks that, but I don’t reach for that particular carrot. Maybe later.

  “When I met Grant, I didn’t even know what my type was. I was eighteen, fresh out of high school, with big dreams and even bigger plans on the horizon. My relationship with Grant basically became swept up in all the excitement of my ‘new adult life.’ I was so focused on planning my future that I didn’t pay attention to the problems in my present.”

  I dab the corners of my mouth with my finger, tasting the remnants of butterscotch perfection, and dispose of my trash. Carter remains quiet, patiently waiting for me to expound on the biggest mistake of my life.

  “Grant’s cover in the beginning was essentially being my yes-man. He agreed with everything I wanted, acted like we had all the same interests, shared my same opinions, and he was good at it. I’m embarrassed to say his whole act was incredibly convincing. He was adamant that we were soulmates, that we were meant to be together, and gave me the whole song and dance about how getting married young wasn’t wrong if we were right for each other.”

  The guy really should move to Hollywood because he probably could have nabbed himself an Oscar by now.

  “On top of all that, he was charming and made me feel special,” I go on. “He really laid it on thick when he proposed, saying our parents and friends might not approve, but they could all go to hell. It would be us against the world. That how we felt about each other was all that really mattered.”

  Carter makes a sound of disgust, drawing my attention. His furious scowl has me biting my lip to prevent an embarrassingly girly squeal from slipping out.

  “Yeah, I know.” I sigh. “That’s how dumb and naïve I was. Everything went downhill after I signed our prenup and found out how loaded his family is. His father had been pressuring him to marry, settle down, and start popping out heirs, even threatening to cut Grant off if he didn’t get his act together. I was an easy mark, I guess, especially after I told Grant about my past with my father’s money.”

  As soon as the famous Pineapple Fountain comes into our view, I eagerly pick up the pace.

  Carter’s right beside me as we close in on it. “What does that mean, your father’s money?”

  I’m smiling as I reach into my purse for my wallet. “I’ll give you the unedited version someday.”

  I immediately want to slap myself.

  Do I actually think someday is going to come with this guy? Am I already planning on keeping him around until then?

  I push that to the back burner and grab two quarters out of my coin po
cket. I hold them up in front of his face, grinning widely. “Time to make a wish.”

  His brow furrows, his mouth twitching in amusement. “You know that’s not a wishing fountain, right?”

  I grab his hand and place the shiny quarter in his palm, holding onto mine. “I know. But the way I see it, if a fountain really does have wish-granting powers, why would I want to throw mine in with thousands of others? Surely, no fountain can keep track of all of those. Some have to fall through the cracks. I like to leave my wishes in fountains where they can actually be heard. So there’s no confusion about who it comes from.”

  His eyes crinkle with what I could almost perceive as adoration…

  If I didn’t know any better. Which I do.

  “I can see where that would be tough for an overwhelmed fountain,” he muses.

  I nod. “I mean, what’s the point in making a wish if no one’s listening?”

  His lips part.

  That expression floors me. It’s a mix between awestruck and dumbfounded.

  And suddenly, I’m feeling rather dumb.

  Flustered, I spin around to face the fountain and chuck my quarter in. Sure enough, it bounces off the stone pineapple at the top and hits almost every single spike on its way down, like a freaking Plinko game.

  “Thank you, Jesus,” Carter huffs out. “Finally, she has a flaw.”

  My head snaps up to him, eyes narrowing.

  He’s flashing his white teeth at me in a devastating smile. “You throw like shit.”

  My glare turns lethal as he flicks his quarter into the fountain with his thumb. It lands perfectly in the water with a tinny plop.

  I’m still glaring when his mouth descends onto mine.

  Then I’m gasping, all annoyance forgotten.

  Then I’m moaning when his tongue snakes out and makes contact with mine.

  And finally, I’m melting into his sheltering arms.

  Christ Jesus, his mouth tastes like toffee ice cream. I’m pretty sure I’ll never be able to unlatch my lips from his. Especially when they move over mine so expertly, so sensuously. His movements are smooth yet insistent. He demands entrance into my mouth, keeping firm pressure on my lips, but he waits for my tongue to meet his. Then they slide together in a passionate dance that feels so fucking magical I could die.

  His body is obviously bigger than mine. He’s stronger, his mouth is wider, he’s almost a whole foot taller.

  But somehow, everything just fits.

  Right down to the way his hands frame my face and control the angle of our heads. It’s like his hands were plastered into a mold to be placed in this exact position. His palms cup my jaw, his thumbs skate over my cheekbones, his fingers bury themselves into my hair.

  When the moment comes where you typically come up for air, I don’t. Instead, I take the kiss deeper, pressing my body against his harder. That action draws moans from both of us. When I take it a step further and suck on his tongue, his mouth goes a little…

  Savage.

  It opens wider, forcing my own to follow. His tongue writhes more voraciously, almost to the level of indecency. Using his teeth to nip, he growls like an animal. He’s breathing heavily through his nose because neither of us want to put distance between this obscenity.

  Fuck, he’s filthy with that mouth.

  And goddammit, I love it.

  I almost weep when he finally tears his mouth away. But another few seconds and I might have actually swooned in his arms from lightheadedness.

  “What did you wish for?” I breathe.

  Seriously? The man just made dirty, sweet love to your mouth and that’s the first thing you want to ask him?

  His grin is made even more devilish with his dilated pupils. “That you’d let me kiss you. That you’d want me to.”

  Eyes remaining on mine, he reaches inside my wallet’s coin pocket and fishes out another quarter. Using his thumb again, he flicks it into the fountain with the other two.

  “Ask me what that one was for,” he demands.

  “What was that one for, Carter?”

  “That you want me to do it again.”

  I grab the nape of his neck and pull his mouth back to mine.

  Your wish is my command, Counselor.

  After nearly setting the ground beneath our feet on fire, Carter and I eventually disconnect our mouths and continue walking along the water’s edge. I’m so lost in our conversation, I barely notice when we reach Murray Boulevard, passing White Point Garden along the way.

  Talking to him is just so easy.

  “Shut up!” I stare at him wide-eyed. “You’ve met John Mellencamp? Like, actually talked to him, not just passed him in the airport?”

  I didn’t think Carter could endear me to him anymore than he already has, but that boyish grin manages to do the trick. “Yep, I actually talked to him. I was having dinner at Hymen’s one night with some colleagues and he was there.”

  Hymen’s is one of Charleston’s most popular restaurants, voted several times for having some of the best seafood in all of South Carolina.

  “He walked in during the middle of our dinner, but I was the only one who seemed to notice.” He rolls his eyes. “It was then I realized I was by far the oldest person at that table. The others were mostly young lawyers and still firmly entrenched in their twenties. I wasn’t going to approach him or anything, but we actually ended up in the bathroom at the same time. We talked for almost twenty minutes. He has a house on Daufuskie Island.”

  “You and bathrooms, I swear,” I mutter, drawing a chuckle from him. “But I guess that’s a step up from the peacock.”

  Another chuckle.

  “Well, I’m officially jealous. I’ve lived in Charleston my entire life, and the only celebrity I’ve ever seen is Jesse Jackson speaking at a rally downtown.”

  “I decided then I should probably just hang out with people my own age.”

  I notice him flinch right after he says it, but I cut him some slack.

  Sort of.

  “What made you change your mind with me?”

  He smiles wolfishly and shrugs. “Your boobs.”

  My head falls back in laughter. “I knew it, you liar. It’s been all about them this whole time.”

  “Well, it also helps that you’re the type of twenty-three-year-old who actually knows who John Mellencamp is,” he adds, his gaze piercing through me. “But even if you didn’t, I’m pretty sure I’d still be tracking you down everywhere.”

  My heartbeat sounds extra loud in my ears as I process those words.

  A giant mule clomps by on the cobblestone street, pulling along a carriage full of tourists, most likely enjoying a night tour of the city.

  I smile and tip my head in the carriage’s direction, hoping to add some levity to the tense silence. “Must make you feel nostalgic, huh? Wasn’t a horse and buggy the only means of transportation back in your day?”

  He narrows his eyes at me, lips pursing.

  I barely resist the urge to hand-fan myself again. I know he’s playing, but that angry male expression is hypnotizing.

  “Weren’t you still in a buggy up until what, last year? Bonnet and all?”

  My smile appears slowly, despite my efforts to restrain it.

  The fact that we can joke about our ages is refreshing. Hell, our fifteen-year difference isn’t even at issue anymore.

  “Touché, Counselor.”

  I’m surprised we’ve walked as far as we have, especially since we’re moving in the complete opposite direction of Gretchen’s loft. But I could probably walk all the way to Virginia and back with this man. I haven’t wanted this moment with him to end. Between that life-altering fountain kiss and our companionable conversation, the evening has been pretty much perfect.

  We’re walking along the sidewalk in front of the humongous waterfront mansions on Murray Boulevard that are a spectacle no matter how many times you see them. Every time I pass these, I’m in awe. Each one is an architectural marvel even now, so I
can’t imagine what nineteenth century Charlestonians thought when they were first built. The windows of each mansion glow behind gauzy curtains, flameless candles lit in many of them, an age-old southern custom.

  Gazing up at these regal mansions reminds me of a time when my family had enough money to live in one like it.

  I don’t think of those times and long for the wealth we once had. I think of those times and long for the happiness, at least my father’s happiness. In hindsight, I realize he was never completely happy because he didn’t have true love with either of his wives. That didn’t come until he met Rachelle. And again, money can’t buy happiness, but it sure made our lives a little less stressful.

  Plus, Daddy smiled a lot more back then.

  Maybe it was the financial security that painted the picture of happiness. Maybe that was why things felt easier back then. And while I know more than anything that money is not the answer to all of life’s problems—in fact, it rarely is with the things that matter—I’ll be honest, I’m ready to get some of that peace of mind back that accompanies financial security. Not wealth, just stability.

  A fat bank account, however, is not the equivalent of peace. Or love.

  Love is a separate entity, and I’d much rather have that in my life than a cash cushion. I mean, look at my time with Grant. His family has more money than God. We would have been covered for the rest of our lives no matter the lucrativeness of our respective jobs. But Grant took advantage of his circumstances and screwed us anyway.

  No. Being rich does not erase all of life’s problems.

  It just creates different ones.

  Carter and I pass one of the taller wrought iron fences that has ivy and roses growing through its bars, the green vines wrapping romantically around the spokes. Carter sidles up to the fence and plucks an ivory bloom from its stem.

  “Carter!” I admonish in a harsh whisper. “Don’t pick the flowers! You could get in a lot of trouble for that.”