Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 133224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
“Me neither.”
“Good night, Blake.” I smile.
“Good night, Rebecca.” The line goes dead as he hangs up.
I stare at the phone in my hand, giddy as a schoolgirl.
Holy shit.
Sunday
“You need to sign here.” John points to the line. “And here.” He turns the page. “And then on this page.”
He slides the paperwork over, and my eyes skim the lines as I read.
“Here’s a pen.” He holds the pen up for me and taps it on the table, as if to hurry me up.
“I’m reading exactly what I’m signing, thank you.” I take the pen from him and keep reading; I might have been stupid enough to trust him before . . . but not now.
That girl is long gone.
I slowly read through everything, and surprisingly, it’s exactly as he promised. The house is mine as long as I don’t legally divorce him for five years. After that time, this contract is void, and the house will remain mine. If I try to break this contract earlier and demand a divorce, then the house will go back to joint ownership between us, and the usual divorce settlement laws will come into place. The other properties we own cannot be sold or moved out of his or my name until this contract term is over.
The thing is, I know that if it ever comes to that, the house is as good as gone. I can’t afford to buy his half out, and there is no way he would just sign it over. He’ll sell it out of spite; he knows this is the only weapon he has left to hurt me.
I haven’t told anyone I’m signing this, because deep down I know they will all tell me it’s a mistake. But it’s the only way I can guarantee the outcome. If we do go to court, there’s a big risk that I’ll lose it.
Not that I would expect anyone to understand this, but my home is the only thing I have left from what I thought was my happily ever after . . . and I’m keeping it as a souvenir. It’s not just bricks and mortar; this is personal. A big fuck you to my pathetic excuse of a marriage.
I hold the pen to the paper and hesitate. Should I do this?
Yes.
Yes, I should.
I sign on the dotted line. I turn the page and sign again, and then again on the last page. I exhale heavily when I’m done, as if a huge weight has been lifted from my shoulders, and I look up into John’s satisfied smile.
“I knew you didn’t want to divorce me.” He takes my hand over the table.
I snatch it from his grip. “Oh, but I will.”
He smiles, as if knowing a secret. “We’re going to get through this. You and me . . . we are meant to be.”
I stare at this evil, deluded man . . . he has no grip on reality at all.
“You know what?” I push out my chair. “I don’t feel like lunch anymore.”
“But you promised.”
“Promises can be broken, John.” My eyes hold his. “I learned that from the best.” I turn and walk out of the restaurant and smile as I hit the fresh air.
I did it.
I don’t have to live in fear anymore . . . the house will always be mine.
I win.
Blake
Monday night
I sit on the plane and smile out the window. I’m finally going home.
It’s been a long week.
And tomorrow . . . I get to see her.
I don’t get nervous.
But this date has me jumpy. The ramifications of the outcome are important and involve something that I very much want.
In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever been this nervous about anything. I rub the backs of my fingers through my stubble as I think about how things could go right or what could go wrong.
There’s only one thing I know for certain: I get one chance, and one chance only, with her.
I can’t fuck this up.
Rebecca
Tuesday night
I pull tissues out of the box and put them under my arms.
I can’t stop sweating.
My nerves are at an all-time high.
I’m in my underwear and putting on my makeup, and damn it, if this keeps going, I’ll have to take another shower before I even leave the house.
I dab my forehead with a tissue and then fan my face as I pace back and forth in the bathroom. I glance at the requested red dress that is laid out on my bed, and I feel my stomach drop.
Jeez . . .
In the words of Taylor Swift, I need to calm down.
This is just ridiculous. It’s only Blake.
He sees me in a face mask every other day, and never once has he flinched. Why am I so worried?
Because tonight is important.
I know damn well that we are probably only going to get one shot at this date, and if it doesn’t go well and we don’t click romantically . . . then I don’t know where that lands us.