Page 52 of Perfect Satisfaction

“Is he free? I need to talk with both of you.”

I take a sip from my daiquiri before responding.

“Let me get him on the line.”

Soon, I’m facing an enraged Brendan, a concerned JB, and it sets my heart pounding. “Is Dani okay? The kids?”

“Everyone is fine.”

My breath comes out in a whoosh.

“Except West’s solicitors called. We’re all expected at JB’s office in forty-eight hours.”

“While I’m always overjoyed to see you both, this isn’t how I want it to happen,” JB grouses.

“Lovely. There goes my tropical paradise,” I drawl.

That’s when Brendan groans. “For the love of all that’s holy, tell me that you’re at the house and not at some public beach where I should have sent a team of bodyguards with you.”

“Only because you apparently are distressed, I’ll let you know I’m at the house.”

“Thank God. My heart can’t take any more.”

The three of us make plans to meet at the London MSW office the day after tomorrow.

After disconnecting, I wonder what they want with us after all this time.

“Listen to the words coming out of my mouth—the answer is no!” I shout.

Brendan’s head is clasped between his hands. JB’s mouth has fallen open slightly. The letter that just changed all our lives is lying in a crumpled ball on the table where I’ve just pinged it off the solicitor’s head. “There is absolutely no way this is legal, let alone sane!”

“Both have been decreed as such, Ms. Moore. Our instructions were to wait for six months after Mr. Moore’s death before revealing this information.”

“Why? Because my dead father is still trying to ruin my life?” I whirl away and stumble a bit.

Brendan surges to his feet, but I waive him back to his seat. “I’m fine, just pissed.”

He relaxes moderately, but the moment I open my mouth to ask, “Why? Can someone at least tell me that?” the room goes static.

“Perhaps it’s better if I just play the recording as requested.”

“There’s a recording?” I parrot.

Next to me, the solicitor who did in fact call JB—Newham—mutters softly, “Brace.” So, I do.

Because suddenly, my father’s voice is coming through the speakers.

“Ursula.

You attempted to discredit this family in a number of ways—first with your friendship with that girl and then by marrying without my approval. The first, I will accept your decision.”

“Fuck you, Father. How kind.” My voice drips with derision.

“What I can’t accept is you married a man and refuse to understand who he is before you try to terminate your marriage. Therefore I have made arrangements.”

“What did you do, you bastard?”

“For the period of one year, three hundred and sixty-five days—you will cohabitate with Arek Ronan. This will include sleeping with your husband at night—what you should have been doing as a dutiful wife.”