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But I didn’t look forward to dealing with ending our marriage. I honestly wished I could move on without having to look back.

The truth was, I couldn’t avoid my husband forever. For several seconds I summoned my courage, then called our house.

“Kolstad residence,” Olga answered.

“Hello, Olga.”

“Mrs. Kolstad!” She sounded relieved. “Robert has been so worried.”

Worried? What had he told her?

Before I could say anything else, he was on the phone. “Where are you?” he demanded.

The sweet, charming Robert of the voice mails had morphed into angry Robert now that he had me on the line.

“I got your messages,” I said, not answering his question. “And I got the chocolates.”

“When are you coming home?”

“I called because I felt I owed you a response. But, Robert, I meant what I said to you before I left. I’m not coming home.” I paused. Sighed. “It’s time we talk about how we’ll go about ending our marriage. It doesn’t have to be—”

“You have a boyfriend, don’t you?” Robert snapped.

“What?” The question stunned me.

“Where were you last night?” he went on. “I called you at Sharon’s, but you were nowhere to be found. So I drove by the store. Didn’t I get a shock when I saw your car was parked there? And again this morning?”

Robert had driven by the store? He was keeping tabs on me?

“I slept in the store,” I lied. “I wanted…some time by myself.”

“Bullshit.”

His harsh tone reached through the phone line, causing me to reel backward.

“You’re screwing someone else, aren’t you? Spreading your legs for another man like a common whore. Like your mother.”

I hung up on him. And then sat motionless, not even breathing.

Why, oh why, had I called him?

Because I’d wanted to show some semblance of respect. Because he’d sounded so damn contrite in his messages.

I’d wanted to call and be civil and see how he sounded. To gauge for myself whether or not we could end our marriage on good terms. Obviously not.

I should have known that Robert would try to clamp down on me with an iron fist. And why not? That’s what he used to do in the past. Get angry if I didn’t agree with him. If I didn’t bend to his way of thinking.

Once he got angry, I always became the spineless wife, acquiescing to his will. Not anymore.

I was in a foul mood when I got to Sharon’s. “Hey, you,” she said as I stepped into her house. When she saw my wrinkled dress, her eyebrows shot up.
“Ooohh.”

“What did Robert say to you last night?” I began without preamble.

Sharon frowned. “He wanted to know where you were.”

“So you just told him I was on a date?” I quipped.

She held up both hands. “Whoa.”

“Sorry.” I dragged my palms over my face. “God, I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t tell him anything. But he called a few times. I told him you weren’t around. I think he thought I was lying, because he came by.”

“He came here?”

“Yeah. Around ten last night. It was pretty obvious
then that you weren’t here, and I told him I had no clue where you were, that you hadn’t come home from work.”

“Damn.”

“Why? What happened?”

“He decided to drive by the store last night. He saw my car there. And I guess he figured I was out with someone.”

“You’re separated,” Sharon said gently.

“Tell Robert that. He thinks he can woo me back with a box of chocolates.”

“Okay, I’m confused. Why don’t we sit down and you tell me what’s going on?”

Sharon put a hand on my back and led me to the sofa in her great room. “I didn’t mean to snap at you,” I said as I sank onto her plush sofa. “I’m…I’m stressed out.”

“Did you talk to Robert?”

“Yeah.” I told her about the chocolates he had sent me, and about our phone call and what he’d said. “And it just hit me, you know? I want my life with Robert to be over, but it’s not that easy. I can’t simply leave and that’s it. He sends me my favorite chocolates and I think, maybe he’s gonna be nice. Then I call, and he’s an asshole. And I wonder, is he going to be decent about this divorce, or is he going to be a jerk? He’s so used to having his own way. He doesn’t like to lose.”

There it was. The crux of my concern. It wasn’t even Robert’s anger when I spoke to him that made me believe our divorce had to be ugly. It was knowing his personality.

He hadn’t built a successful company by accepting
loss. I’d overheard many of his conversations when it came to business, and when he wanted to get his way, he’d bully people and push them until they broke. I worried that he would do the same to me.

“He can’t force you to stay with him.”

“I know.” I sighed. “But what if he tries to punish me for leaving? What if he takes my shop away?”

“Have you talked to a lawyer yet?”

“No.”

We were quiet for several moments. I stared at the floor, my thoughts a whir in my brain. Sharon rubbed my upper back. She was simply being there, waiting for me to get them out.

“Robert called me a whore. Accused me of being like…like my…”

“What an absolute jerk,” Sharon said firmly. “And to think I ever liked him! He’s abusing you with words and bullying you in an attempt to knock down your self-esteem. Don’t let him get to you. You’re a beautiful person. Inside and out. You’re moving on to bigger and better things. Don’t let him drag you back down.”

“I slept with Dion last night,” I blurted out.

“And?”

“And it was amazing.” Despite my mood, I smiled.

“Good for you!” Sharon exclaimed, and she meant it. “It was absolutely incredible. Not just the sex,” I said in a whisper, giggling. “But we have a connection. I know I haven’t dated in ages, and maybe I’m out to lunch, but I really believe it.”

“I’m happy for you. Lord knows you deserved a booty call.”

“If it was just a one-night thing, maybe I wouldn’t be so stressed out. But I like him a lot and I want to see where this leads. It would be so nice to move on with someone else and not have to look back.”

“Wow.”

“I know. It sounds crazy.”

“It doesn’t sound crazy.”

“And it’s mutual,” I went on. “He likes me, too.” I told Sharon what Dion had told me about his girlfriend, and how he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about me. “It’s almost as if fate put us together. I just want Robert to let me go without a fight.”

“You’re going to get through this, Elsie. I realize you’re scared and stressed right now and don’t know what to expect, but you’ll get through it.” She patted my hand. “Hang in there, okay?”

I thought of Dion, the silver lining on my dark cloud. I suppose a part of me was worried about losing him before we had a chance to explore how deep our connection might be, but another part of me felt there was no reason to be concerned.

I smiled as I faced my friend. “Okay.”

I looked up divorce lawyers at work later that day and called several. The first three told me they would love to take my case but couldn’t. They’d worked with Robert in the past and it could be a conflict of interest. Some I didn’t get a good feel for. But a woman by the
name of Diane Delko sounded like a fighter. I made an appointment with her for Friday afternoon.

And then I resolved to put Robert out of my mind. I wanted to concentrate on Dion alone when I got to his place.

This time, I wasn’t dressed like a sexpot. I was wearing a denim skirt and a pink cotton, scoop-neck shirt. Simple and cute.

But when I got to Dion’s door, he gave me a smoldering look as if I were wearing a hot negligee.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey, you.” He drew me into his arms and rocked me while he hugged me, before planting a kiss on my temple. “How was your day?”

A loaded question. But I wasn’t about to tell him about my interaction with Robert. So I looked up at him and said, “Good. I had a good day. Did you see your mother?”

“Yeah. She’s planning a trip to Hawaii.”

“Hawaii? Alone?”

“No, with a girlfriend of hers. Someone she met during breast cancer treatment. Another survivor. They promised they’d reward themselves with a trip once they were in remission.”

“Nice. What a great reward.”

Dion nodded. “It’s a place my mother always wanted to go, but never got around to. Now…”

“And now she’s not waiting for tomorrow,” I finished for him. “She’s going to take advantage of everything life has to offer today.”

“Exactly.”

My words had meaning for me as well, not just Dion’s mother. I had wasted most of my adult life being afraid to love, and then opting for what I thought was an emotionally safe marriage.

Now, I didn’t want to waste another minute.

Dion lowered his lips to my neck, brushed them across my skin and whispered, “I missed you.”

Just like that, a sensual heat warmed me. We hadn’t even made it past his doorway.

I looked up. Dion’s eyes were fogged with desire.

All it took was being in each other’s presence to get us in the mood. It was a raw physical reaction to another person that I’d never experienced before. I didn’t understand it.

But I knew I didn’t want to fight it.

Lifting his hand, I brought it to my mouth and kissed each finger. I kept my eyes on his as I took his thumb in my mouth and sucked gently.

“Oh, baby.”

I flicked my tongue over it. Up and down the sides. Around the tip.

Groaning, Dion pulled his thumb out of my mouth, framed my face and planted his mouth on mine. His tongue played over mine, stoking my desire with each delicious, hot, hungry flick.

Breaking the kiss, he spun me around in his arms, positioning my back to his chest. My heart pounding wildly, I pressed my arms against the wall and braced them against it for support.

His fingers skimmed my neck as he swept my hair to the side. And then his hot lips were on the back of my
neck, his fingers slipping beneath my shirt and tickling my skin.

“Every time you touch me…” I eased my head back against his shoulder as his hands moved to my breasts. He pushed my bra up. Tweaked my nipples. I dug my fingers into his thighs, reveling in the exquisite pleasure.

I wanted more of him. Needed more of him.

I turned in his arms and threw my arms around his neck. As we kissed, he gripped my ass. Held me against his rock-hard erection.

I would never tire of him. I knew that. Moaning, I curled one leg around his calf. And then Dion was lifting me, and I was wrapping both my legs around his waist.

He kissed me as he carried me through the house to the bedroom. The mattress bounced as we landed on it, me on my back, our lips still connected. We pulled apart only to tear at each other’s clothes, and when we were naked, we started to kiss again, my hands moving over his body with urgency, and his over mine, heating every part of me.

I maneuvered myself on top of him and kissed his hard pecs. Trailing my lips higher, I moved them to a nipple and flicked my tongue over the small, tight bud, hoping that it would be even half as pleasurable to him as it was when he did it to me.

I bit it gently. Kissed it. Dion groaned and slipped his fingers into my hair.

His reaction empowered me, and I ran a wet path down his abdomen with my tongue.

“Ooh, Elsie.”

I lifted my head and met his gaze. Smiled. And then I looked at his cock. Marveled at the sight of it.

“Do you know how much I love looking at you?” I asked. “How much it turns me on?”

“Not as much as I enjoy looking at you.”

My eyes drank in every inch of his penis. The exquisite thickness. The impressive length. The way it curved slightly to the right in its erect state.

I touched the base of his cock, my fingertips gently playing over his pubic hair. He didn’t have a lot of it. I wondered if he trimmed it, or if it was naturally that way.

I trailed my fingers up the length of Dion’s shaft, and watched it throb. I grinned, satisfied. Touched the tip. There was a bead of moisture there.

“You’re wet,” I said.

Dion didn’t reply. But the intense look on his face spoke volumes.

I kissed his cock, and again it throbbed. Meeting his gaze, I parted my lips. Slowly. Deliberately. Wondering if watching me was as much a thrill for him as it was when I watched his face settle between my thighs.

“My God, baby. You’re killing me.”

I circled my tongue around the tip of his cock, tasting a hint of salt. His scent was musky and alluring. But his reaction—a deep shudder and groan—turned me on more than anything else.

As Dion twisted his hands in my hair, I took him deep in my mouth. I moved my lips up and down his cock,
moaning with delight. He was so hard. So wonderfully hard and strong.

I pumped his length as I pleased him. Teased his testicles with my fingertips. Each of Dion’s uninhibited grunts said he was in heaven.

But soon he was urging me up, by grasping my shoulders. And then he was kissing me deeply. My legs were straddled over him, my pussy grazing his cock. I was desperate to slide onto him, but I managed to tear my lips from his and whisper, “Condom.”

Dion kissed my chin. “Right. Condom.”

He kissed my lips again, and all reason fled my mind. If he thrust inside me at that moment, I wouldn’t stop him. I wouldn’t want to. If I got pregnant because of my carelessness, so be it.

But with a groan, Dion pulled away, sliding me off his body. He rolled to the side of the bed and opened the night table drawer. I ran my palm over the corded muscles of his arm as he got a condom and put it on.

Then I climbed on top of him, straddling him again. Gazing into his magnificent hazel eyes, I wrapped my fingers around his penis and guided it to my pussy.

Our eyes remained locked as his body completed mine. My mouth fell open, and I gasped from the luscious feelings washing over me. As I rode his cock and fucked him until I was throwing my head back and screaming his name, the pleasure deeper than just the physical level.

As we connected—body and soul.

I was alive again.

No longer was I a ghost of a person, walking on eggshells to keep my husband happy. No longer was I trying to keep my sexuality repressed. I was a fully fledged woman, enjoying her sensual side as much as every other part of her.

Enjoying it not just for the sake of getting pregnant.

Being with Dion had liberated me.

I couldn’t get enough of him. Every day for the rest of the week, I went to see him after work. All he had to do was touch me, and I was aroused. We were like teenagers who had discovered the amazing world of sex, and I didn’t think I’d ever tire of messing around with him.

But it was more than merely fucking. I knew that in my heart, even if the thought seemed irrational. At
the very least, I knew we had a mutual admiration and were both interested in seeing what would develop as the future unfolded.

All week, I was able to put Robert out of my mind and concentrate on Dion, but by the time Friday rolled around I had to get back to reality. At least in terms of dealing with ending my marriage.

I was nervous as I drove out to meet divorce lawyer Diane Delko. But she put me at ease after a few minutes of talking.

“I understand your concerns,” she said, once I’d explained my situation. “But rest assured, divorces are so common these days, there’s a playbook that’s pretty much standard. So no, you don’t have to prove mental cruelty or anything like that. It doesn’t even matter if someone’s had an affair. North Carolina is a no-fault state. You can file for divorce for any reason—something I see all too often in my position.”

“What about the financial aspect?” I asked. “My husband is very wealthy. Much of his fortune he earned before he ever met me. But I suppose that doesn’t matter, because I signed a prenuptial. I agreed to a million dollars if we split before the ten year mark.”

“I’d like to see that agreement,” Diane said. “It might not be legally enforceable. I know of your husband, Elsie, and I believe you could be entitled to a lot more than that.”

I held up a hand. “I’m not interested in milking my husband for half his fortune. All I really want is to be able to keep my store. The money promised to me in
the prenup will allow me to buy a small place, and have some security.”

“All things considered, I’ll still need to see that agreement.” Diane paused. “Do you know who your husband has retained?”

“No, but I suspect it will likely be Clayton Gunter. He handled Robert’s two previous divorces.” The famed divorce attorney not only had a reputation for being the best in the greater Charlotte area, he was also a personal friend of Robert’s.

“When you find out, let me know. The next step will be setting up a joint meeting to finalize a separation agreement, where we’ll come to terms with issues like interim support. Are you both in the matrimonial home?”

“Uh, no. I’m living with a friend.”

“That’ll be something else we discuss. What will happen to the matrimonial home and—”

“He won’t want to sell it. And I don’t expect him to.”

Diane nodded. She seemed to be eyeing me curiously. “Is there any chance of a reconciliation?”

“No,” I replied instantly. “No chance.”

“Is there someone else involved?”

“I just want to move on,” I said, evading her question. “As you know, there’s a substantial age difference between me and Robert and…you know.”

“As I said, it doesn’t matter, but I typically like to know if there’s something else going on. For example, one partner might want to slow the process down in
hopes of reconciliation, while the other is ready to move on because someone else is involved.”

“Robert knows there will be no kissing and making up. He lied to me about something very significant and…” My voice trailed off. Though Diane was a lawyer, and I had every intention of retaining her, I wasn’t comfortable telling her everything—at least not yet. I wasn’t the type to open up about my life unless I was close to a person. As nice as Diane seemed, I didn’t want to tell her about Dion. First of all, he wasn’t the reason for the breakup of my marriage. And secondly, I didn’t want any information about him to inadvertently slip out during meetings with my husband and his lawyer.

She spent the next few minutes discussing her fees and her retainer. I hired her and wrote her a check. Then I took a few of her cards—one to give to Robert.

I would either have to call Robert and give him Diane’s information, or I would hand him her card when I saw him.

But I didn’t have to do either this weekend. Monday would come soon enough. Until then, I would enjoy Dion.

Robert continued to call my cell phone. Most of the time, he didn’t leave a message, but I knew he’d phoned because I saw his number on my caller ID. A couple times he left amicable messages asking me to call him. But over the weekend, his messages became curt and snarky. “How long are you going to play this little game of yours? You’ve made a fool of me for long enough,
Elsie. I think it’s fair to say we’re even. Come home. Come home now.”

We’re even?
As if my leaving had been about punishing him for his lie.

I called him from work on Monday, when Spike had left for his lunch break. Robert answered his cell before it could ring a second time. “Elsie.” A beat passed. “Oh, my love. Thank you for calling.”

“I’ve seen a lawyer,” I said without preamble, before I lost my courage. “Her name is Diane Delko—”

“A lawyer?”

I drew in an anxious breath. “Yes.”

“You want to talk about divorcing me, you come and talk to me. I won’t have this conversation over the phone.”

Maybe he was right. Maybe this was something I needed to do in person. “Will you be home later?”

“I was going to have dinner at the club, but if you’re coming home, I’ll be here.”

“Then I’ll see you after work.”

“So, depending on how things go and the mood I’m in, I might not see you later,” I told Dion a couple hours later when I gave him a call. “I might just stay at Sharon’s place.”

“You know you can come here, no matter how late it is.”

“I know. But seeing Robert might not be pleasant, and I don’t want to be bad company.”

“I’m here for you regardless. No matter your mood.
I’m capable of holding you all night and not taking advantage of that beautiful body of yours.”

“That remains to be seen,” I joked.

“Hey—it’s not like you make it easy,” Dion countered. “Seriously, though, if you want to come here and chill and put your head on my shoulder, I’m a good listener. Ask any of my boys. They’ll tell you Coach Barry’s got a good ear on him.”

“I don’t have to ask anyone,” I said softly. “I know that already. And thank you for the offer. I might take you up on it.”

“Even if you don’t come by tonight, give me a call after you see your husband. Let me know you’re okay.”

“I will.” I heard the door chimes from where I was in the rear of the store, and knew I needed to get off the line. I had to go back to work. “I’ll call you later.”

By the time I closed up shop, I was feeling anxious. Nothing about the idea of seeing Robert was appealing. I could only hope that after this first meeting to discuss our divorce, subsequent meetings would be more comfortable.

Though I’d spent nearly nine years living with Robert, as I approached his home, I felt like a stranger.

I parked the car in the driveway and killed the engine, then sat behind the wheel for a couple of minutes.
This is silly,
I told myself.
Get out of the car and get on with it.

So I did.

Robert’s face lit up when he saw me, as if there was no tension at all between us. As if I’d been away on
holiday, rather than living with a friend until we could sort out our divorce.

“Hello, Elsie,” he said warmly.

“Hello.” My tone was frank, businesslike. I kept my arms crossed over my chest as I slowly stepped into the house. It was amazing how quickly a place where you’d once felt comfortable could become foreign. Being here was like going back to an old neighborhood you’d moved away from months earlier—familiar, yet oddly different.

“Thank you for coming back, Elsie. Thank you for coming home.”

I ignored the comment as I strolled to the sofa in the great room and took a seat. Robert knew I was here to discuss our divorce face-to-face. Now he was acting as though I’d come home to reconcile.

“Olga’s gone home,” Robert said as he moved to stand in front of me. “But she prepared dinner for us.”

“I’m not really hungry.”

“Okay.” He nodded, then sank onto the sofa beside me, leaving a comfortable distance between us. “It’s good to see you here, Elsie. This place hasn’t been the same without you.”

Why was he doing this? Acting as though we hadn’t spoken about divorce just this afternoon? “Robert…”

“I called our travel agent,” he went on. “First-class tickets are reserved for Paris, leaving on Saturday. At the Ritz—in the same suite we had the last time. I know we’ve hit a rough patch, but two weeks in Paris, walking along the Seine, eating breakfast at that beautiful
spot near the Tuilleries… What could be a better way to get us back on track?”

“Robert, please.” I closed my eyes, as if that would block out his attempt to persuade me to change my mind. “Please…”

“Two romantic weeks recapturing our love. You know that’s what you want. Why are you fighting it? To prove to me how strong you are? Okay, you made your point. I was wrong. Let’s move on.”

“Just stop.” I buried my face in my hands, surprised to find they were trembling. I drew in a deep breath to calm my nerves, then I continued. “When we spoke this afternoon, you said to come by so we could discuss our divorce in person. That’s why I’m here. Not to talk about Paris or to hear you act as though I’m a child who can’t make up her mind.”

“If you want a divorce, why can’t you look at me?”

I turned my head to meet Robert’s gaze. I didn’t flinch. I held his eyes, not blinking, letting him know I was serious.

“You think you’ve been perfect?” he asked, irritation creeping into his voice.

I wasn’t here to argue. “My lawyer is Diane Delko,” I said as I reached into my purse. “We need to know who you’ve retained so we can get everything started.” I produced Diane’s business card and handed it to Robert. “Here’s her card.”

He took it from me and flung it onto the floor.

I sighed. “Do you have a lawyer yet?”

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

“This isn’t about anyone else but us, Robert. Your lie.”

“But if you weren’t fucking someone else, you would come back to me.”

“Why do you have to make this difficult?” I asked him.

“Do you think I’m going to give you millions of dollars so you can spend it on some worthless guy who doesn’t deserve it? Some man who’ll use you and won’t respect you?”

“I don’t want your millions. Is that what you’re worried about? All I want is my store. And in the prenup, we agreed on one million—”

“After ten years of marriage.”

“If we split
before
ten years,” I corrected him.

“That wasn’t the agreement.”

“Whatever you think I deserve then,” I said, already exasperated. “All I want is for you to be fair, and we can get this over with.”

“Get it over with. Like a root canal, perhaps? Or a colonoscopy?” Robert asked, his voice rising. “Our marriage is on the same level as some unpleasant procedure you want to get over and done with?”

“You’re twisting my words.”

“What’s the rush, Elsie?”

I opened my mouth, but didn’t say anything. I didn’t have an answer to that question—at least not one Robert would want to hear.

And I wasn’t about to tell him about Dion. He would make it seem like my wanting to leave was about another man, and that wasn’t the case. My dissatisfaction
in my marriage had been building for a long time, and I was ready to embrace my new life. Something Robert clearly didn’t understand.

“If you agree to stay until the ten year mark and decide at that point that you still want the divorce, I’ll give you five million. I’ll call my lawyer and have him amend our prenuptial agreement.”

“This isn’t about the money! I just want my freedom.”

Robert stood. “Then you get nothing. Not the store, and certainly not a million dollars.”

“What?”

“You’ll be penniless. Just like you were when I married you.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Oh, but I can. Especially if you’re screwing around on me. Because our prenuptial agreement specifically said that if you cheated, you’d get nothing. Which is exactly what a whore deserves.”

“There was no stipulation like that.” As I said the words, I tried to recall. Tried to remember if there was some language like that that I might have forgotten. I shook my head. “No. There was the ten year issue, but that was all.”

“You’re mistaken.”

“No, I’m not.”

Robert walked to the nearby wall console and lifted an envelope from the top shelf. He made his way back to me, holding it like a trump card.

“Refresh your memory,” he said. “You signed this.”

He tossed me the envelope and I opened it. My eyes scanned the legalese quickly.

Then I saw it. At the bottom. A paragraph I could have sworn wasn’t there before. It stated that if I got involved with another man during the course of our marriage, I would forfeit any financial benefits, including support, in the event of our divorce.

“I never signed this,” I said adamantly.

“You most certainly did.”

“I never signed
this.
” The agreement was a photocopy, so perhaps Robert had done some cutting and pasting to make it look as if my signature was on that page. “The real document—the original one—is what’s going to stand up in court.”

“Your signature is on the original.”

I was about to reiterate my point when something made me stop. Just like that, I
knew.

“You wrote a new agreement and forged my signature?” I couldn’t hide my outrage.

“That’s quite the accusation.”

“You did, didn’t you? My God. When?”

“For someone who’s not seeing someone else, you’re quite concerned about the language of the prenup. According to you, you should have no cause for concern.”