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“We’re going to file on the grounds of irreconcilable differences. It’ll be better for the kids that way. Not knowing about your husband’s indiscretions.”
I agreed. My confidence level in this man was mounting. In my heart, I knew I’d made the right choice.
“How long will the whole process take?”
“More or less a year. Unless your husband contests it, in which case it’ll take longer.” A beat. “And cost you a lot more.”
My heart sank to my stomach, and I inwardly groaned. That was a long time. And God knows how much more money. I honestly didn’t want to know.
Instead, I asked, “Should I tell Matt I want a divorce? And have hired you?”
“No, don’t do that.” His face puckered. “We first need to get concrete evidence that he’s cheating; it’ll help with the alimony settlement. I’m gonna put one of my pals, a private investigator, on the case and have your husband followed. Get some photos of him with his pants down.”
While I shuddered, wondering if I could stomach seeing a photo of my husband in bed with another woman, let alone one of my friends, Jason polished off his coffee.
“By the way, that’ll cost you another two hundred bucks an hour, but it shouldn’t take long. He’s really good.”
I had a growing feeling this divorce was going to take me to the cleaners.
“Oh, and by the way, be prepared for some other out-of-pocket expenses. Like child custody evaluators, property appraisers, and financial analysts.”
My throat constricted. I really needed some water. “How much is that going to cost?”
“Between twenty-five hundred and five grand. Not more than that.”
I silently cursed Matt. The bastard! I was going to need every dime I could get my hands on. I toyed with my engagement ring and an idea as bright as the perfect five-carat diamond pinged in my head. I could pawn it! Make a small fortune if funds ran out. After all, I wasn’t going to need it anymore. Or want it.
My spirits brightened as Jason walked me to the door. “One last thing, Natalie. I want you to continue to share a bed with your husband, as hard as that might be, until we serve him the divorce papers. It’ll help deflect your intentions and not make them suspect to him or anyone in your family. There’s nothing like taking them by surprise.”
I nodded, a painful knot forming in the pit of my stomach. I was going to have to sleep with the enemy.
At least I was good at pretending.
FORTY-SIX
NATALIE
When I got home at a quarter past five, I was drained. It’d taken every ounce of self-restraint not to treat myself to some retail therapy at the upscale Century City mall after my meeting with Jason Nussbaum.
I immediately went to the fridge and poured myself a glass of chilled chardonnay. I took it—and the bottle—to the living room where I sank into one of our plush couches, kicked off my shoes, and stretched my legs on the coffee table, something I never did in this formal room. I needed to chill. Unwind.
I was ready for a second glass when Tanya barged into the room on the verge of tears.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, setting my wineglass on the table.
“Natalie, they’re going to kick me out of Coldwater!”
My brows shot up. “What do you mean?”
“My father hasn’t paid the tuition. And I can’t reach him.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. I’ve tried a gazillion times to call, text, and email him. No answer. He travels a lot to impoverished countries. Maybe I can’t get through to him because there’s no Wi-Fi or cell phone service, maybe he has a new mobile number, or maybe something’s happened to him. What if he’s being held hostage somewhere? Or been in a terrorist attack? Or got some deadly disease?”
The waterworks broke loose. I felt terrible and tried to console her.
“I’m sure he’s okay.” Guilt threaded through me. I hadn’t gone out of my way to reach him, like contacted the British Embassy.
