Arranged(77)

I didn’t have anything else to say. I tried to walk out of the room without another word.

He tried to stop me. The second he grabbed me, I screamed bloody murder.

He recoiled. “Don’t. Please. Don’t let her do this.”

My eyes narrowed on him malevolently. It was only as my vision blurred through narrow lids that I realized tears were running out of my eyes, down my cheeks unheeded. “She’s not the one who did this,” I told him quietly, every syllable vibrating with my hatred. With my pain. “This was always a mistake.” The words held as much undiluted ache as they did truth. “All of it. I have so much more to offer than this.”

“Please, don’t do this,” he said. “Can we just talk about it some more?”

I hesitated. Even after everything that had happened, I fucking hesitated. When I realized that, it made me so angry that I didn’t bother to answer him. He’d see. “Get out.”





CHAPTER





THIRTY-FIVE





Life is full of giving, taking, borrowing, and moving on.

And balance. For the first time in my life, I meant to find mine.

I filed for divorce as soon as possible. It was ugly and messy. It was as distressing as it was essential to my peace of mind. It was both easier and harder than I could have hoped.

There was also some healing in it all. That I had not anticipated.

I hadn’t expected it, but I’d needed it.

His family had always been kind to me, but through the divorce they were the kindest of all.

“We understand why you need to do this,” his mother told me. She was crying. It broke my heart. “We don’t blame you. But please, never hesitate to ask us for anything at all. We’ve come to see you as our daughter, marriage or no.”

“We still consider you family,” his father told me gruffly. “We always will. Nothing will change that. Your security team will stay with you. You’re too high profile to even consider going without, and after everything that’s happened . . . They’re clearly a necessary precaution.”

I wasn’t sure if I should have protested that co-dependent measure, but I didn’t. I needed my team, literally and emotionally.

“And you can say no, it’s your choice of course,” his mother said, “but we’d like to maintain our weekly Sunday Mass and family dinner with you. We’ll dine with Banks on a different day to avoid any discomfort for you both.”

“And there will be no fight over any of the financials,” his father assured me. “We’ll treat you right, I promise.”

I didn’t know what that meant, but I just nodded. I was the one backing out of the agreement, and even if it was unfair, I knew I had no right to fight them on any of it. Getting weekly business guidance from one of the wealthiest men in the world would be more than enough to keep me afloat.

“And aside from any other issues, you’re keeping the apartment.” Pasco’s firm voice was brooked no argument. “That part is nonnegotiable. You’re still a Castelo.”

Well hell. I felt tears fill my eyes.

The divorce was supposed to hurt bad, but I was braced for the pain, the swift sting of a Band-Aid ripped off clean.

It was the extra blows I wasn’t expecting. The slowly festering wounds. The ones that weren’t allowed to heal neatly.

I hadn’t expected the added ugliness of divorcing someone who’d never really wanted to be married to me, but also wasn’t willing to let me go easy.

At first Banks just refused to sign anything, maintaining that he wasn’t agreeing to the divorce.

Eventually it came down to a few strange, arbitrary conditions on his part. They were so unexpected and frankly cruel that at first I outright dismissed them.

Finally, just wanting it finished, I agreed to two of them just to get him to sign.

One was a one hour meeting with him each week, a sort of public check-in. The place and time were completely at my discretion. He didn’t care if we met for coffee, a meal, or drinks. He just wanted an hour out of every one of my weeks for an entire year after the divorce.

It was a little thing, small enough to seem almost reasonable and big enough to devastate me.

It was as unfair as it was unexpected and something he wouldn’t budge on, the spoiled, entitled asshole. Only a rich man would come up with such an outrageous condition.

The second was that I be there when he signed the divorce papers. He wanted to have it out again face-to-face. It was cruel, but I was determined to survive it with grace.

We met at his place. Alone with our paperwork. I hadn’t seen him for months by this point. I’d flat out refused to be in the same room with him, because I’d known how it would go down.

It was bad.

That thing between us, the one that had shown itself in barest glimpses of touch, pleasure, addictive sensation, raised its ugly head, and it was worse than even my razor sharp memory’s endless replays of it.

And I wanted it. Wanted time to roll back and pause just there, with him heaving over me, his ragged breaths puffing against my face, his flesh gliding into mine. His gruff voice calling my name.

And I wanted it gone. All the hours that had led to this craving.

I wanted it wiped forever from my memory as if it never happened. Wished he and I had never shared the same air.