The list of people I knew who would pay good money to watch Cillian being served divorce papers by law enforcement was longer than War and Peace. But I didn’t want to cause Kill any more trouble or humiliation.
“Is it really necessary?”
Just this morning, Cillian left me another message with a cloud.
Cillian: Spoke to your aunt (if you tell anyone I conversed with a cloud, I will flat out deny it). She said I should take you on a honeymoon. I bought tickets.
He seemed undeterred. At the same time, I appreciated him giving me my space. He never once showed up on my doorstep or bulldozed into my life like he used to.
“Yes,” said the lawyer, bobbing her head like a dashboard dog. “Maybe you should talk to him if you’re so unsure. If you’re going to divorce a man, at least give him the courtesy of expecting it.”
I stood, collecting the papers.
“I’ll let him know.”
I had to.
I wasn’t going to stay in a loveless marriage.
Even if it was to the love of my life.
“Can I turn on the local news?” Ms. Gwen swooped the remote control from one of the round tables in the teachers’ lounge, pointing it at the television and switching the channel from sports. A couple of the male teachers groaned in protest.
I poked at my microwaved pasta, sitting in the back of the room, trying not to think about how Belle had promised to deliver the divorce papers to Cillian as soon as she woke up today, which should be at about two in the afternoon.
I couldn’t go forward with the sheriff thing. I just couldn’t imagine putting him through this. The humiliation. The embarrassment. The publicity of all this.
Still, the limbo had to stop. I had to move on.
“What are we watching?” Ms. Hazel plopped next to Ms. Gwen and me, popping a salt and vinegar chip into her mouth. “Wait, is that a press conference?”
“Breaking news.” Ms. Michelle sounded startled. I kept my head down as they cranked up the volume. I heard the muttering of press people ahead of a conference, and then the intense hushed voices and loud clicks of the cameras when the person who was speaking got onstage. I refused to lift my eyes from the dish I wasn’t even eating. I had this thing again where I knew if I made one move—even trail my gaze up an inch—the tears would start falling.
“Hey, Pers, what’s your hot guy doing on the news?” Ms. Michelle chirped.
“Breaking her poor colleagues’ hearts, that’s what he’s doing.” Ms. Gwen chuckled. “Emphasis on the word poor. What’re you still doing here, Persy? Did you not get the memo you’re loaded?”
“Why, hello there, honey,” whistled Ms. Regina to the TV screen in a manner I knew Cillian would hate. “You can ruin my natural resources any day of the week.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you so much for coming here today. As I mentioned, this statement will be brief, and, like my temper, short.”
My eyes snapped up from my frozen meal. My throat clogged.
Cillian was standing there. My husband—at least for now—in one of his gloriously dark gray suits, dashing silk dark hair, and the hooded expression of a predator on the prowl. Seeing his face again reminded me why I’d insisted he would never seek me out. It disarmed me completely.
His voice. His presence. His smoky amber eyes.
The cameras clicked enthusiastically. It was bizarre to see the man I’d spent countless nights with on a television screen, delivering a message to the city of Boston.
Was he announcing our divorce?
Did Belle serve him yet?
“Despite proving to be a great financial resource and revealing strong potential in getting our hands on more oil, Royal Pipelines has decided to stop the Arctic exploration drillings immediately and indefinitely. All the scheduled rigs will be shut down, future plans are shelved, and the current running trials will cease to operate as of”—he raised his arm, checking his designer watch with a frown—“exactly fifteen minutes from now.”
Murmurs and gasps exploded across Royal Pipelines’ media room. Journalists and reporters shouted questions about Green Living, Andrew Arrowsmith, and the potential clash with Greenpeace, who were rumored to pick up the lawsuit where Arrowsmith left off.
My heart beat so fast I thought I was going to faint.
Kill raised his hand nonchalantly, stopping the stream of questions.
“As I said, the statement will be brief, and I will not be taking any questions. In addition to stopping all oil-rig actions, as of this afternoon, I am also the proud owner of the surrounding Arctic areas which have shown potential and promise to discover oil, meaning Royal Pipelines currently holds all the reserves and options for anyone to drill in the Arctic. Ever.
“I will explore cleaner options in my bid to grow Royal Pipelines’ capital and am still committed to employ tens of thousands of Americans. In fact, I would like to inform our investors that I already got my hands on something far more lucrative than the Arctic and not nearly as destructive.”
The winning, villainous smile he shot the camera was of someone who was having a checkmate moment, not someone who had just given up his flagship operation. But that was Cillian. Always three steps ahead of the game.
“The reason for my executive decision has nothing to do with Green Living. As you’re aware, Green Living had decided to drop the case against Royal Pipelines. As of today, no one had managed to pick it up and carry it through. The reason for my decision is entirely personal.
“As some of you know, I married less than a year ago. One of the things my wife taught me was to listen. This is me listening to what she had to say. She’s been outspoken against drilling in the Arctic throughout our short marriage.” He paused, twisting his mouth grimly. “She drives a Tesla, you see.”
The journalists and photographers erupted in laughter. A few colleagues shot me curious glances. My peers always asked me what I was doing here. As if waking up for work was some sort of punishment. Like they wouldn’t miss our students if they quit work. I mostly ignored it, but the truth was, I liked keeping my job because I didn’t know if Cillian was going to keep me.
I tried to blink back the tears, averting my gaze from the TV.
I told him not to contact me, and he kept on finding new and creative ways to reach out to me.
It took me months to turn my back on us, but I never took into consideration there may be a game changer.
That Cillian might wake up and fight for us.
CILLIAN
“Anyone interested in hearing a joke about that time Kill drilled the Arctic but stopped because someone thawed his icy heart?”
Hunter snorted when I got off the stage, pacing behind me. Devon followed.
“No,” Devon and I barked in unison.
Hunter nodded. “’Kay. Good talk.”
We slipped through the back door, taking the elevator back to the management floor. I kept checking my watch, wondering when an appropriate time would be to try calling my wife. I finally got it. How badly it sucked to be ignored. I’d ignored Persephone for months when I had her in my bed, sweet and willing.
Her texts, her words, her quirky observations. They were all mine for the taking.
Now I had to do the chasing, and I had to admit—they weren’t kidding when they called Karma a bitch.
The elevator dinged. I strode out to my office, waving at Hunter to get as far as humanly possible away from me. I was a surly son of a bitch these days. I cursed. I shouted at employees. I did a lot of mortal things people weren’t used to from me. The other day, I said fuck while golfing with my father. He almost had a stroke.
Speaking of Athair, I spotted the old sod pacing the boardroom from the corner of my eye and made a quick, sharp turn toward it. An overhead TV replaying my press conference danced on the wall behind him. Upon a closer look, I saw Mother was there, too, perched on one of the seats by the kidney-shaped desk, fixing her makeup.
I opened the door, closed it, and waited for the storm. I didn’t have to wait long.
“You little piece of—”
“I would not finish that sentence if I were you.” I raised my open palm, wearing an easy smile on my face. “You’re talking to the CEO of Royal Pipelines. Disrespect me, and you’ll find yourself escorted out of my building.”
“Your building?” he sputtered. “That’s a good one. No. You would never,” my father spat out. I didn’t have to grace that with an answer. He already knew I was capable of pretty much anything.
He fell into one of the seats, grabbing his head in his hands, shaking it. “I don’t understand.”
“I am under no obligation to make sense to you,” I informed him.
“Green Living dropped the lawsuit. This could’ve been the most lucrative oil-rig operation in the world. I mean, you were the one who pushed for it. You were the head of research. You spent three goddamn months living on an iceberg, managing this project closely. This was your baby, Cillian.”
“Yes,” I said. “And now I’m interested in another baby. A human one. Which is why I’d like my wife to be as content as she can be.”
“This is what it’s about?” Mother jumped to her feet, finally justifying her oxygen consumption in the room. “Sweetie, we appreciate you marrying this…this sweet, common girl, but there are others out there. Just as pretty, and they won’t interfere with your business. I didn’t interfere with your father’s business.”
“No,” I agreed. “You also had jack-shit to say about anything, from our upbringing to our education. At the risk of sounding disrespectful—which, by the way, I am happy to take—I don’t want your kind of marriage. It looks awful, inside and out. I don’t want manageable. I don’t want my wife to be a ghost of a mother. A yes woman. A prop. And I like my common wife just fine, Mother.”
More than like her.
Persephone sacrificed more for me in our short marriage than Mother did since I was born.
“This beats the entire purpose of you getting married!” my father thundered, jumping to his feet. “Losing this 1.4-billion-dollar opportunity for a…for a…”
“Say it.” I smirked. “For pussy, right? No other organ in a woman’s body counts for you. Least of all a heart.”
It didn’t for me, either. Not until recently.
“Yes!” my father boomed, throwing his arms in the air, his face red, a drop of saliva staining his lower lip. “If I knew that was the case, I’d have never pushed you to get married.”
“I’m glad you did.” I opened the glass door. “This marriage has taught me an important lesson. A lesson Evon, Yale, and Harvard combined couldn’t. Now, allow me to apply some of the conclusions I’ve come to in recent months and throw you the hell out of my office—yes, my office, if I put in the sixty hour work week, I’m the one calling the shots—with this tip: never, ever tell me what to do with my job, my life, and my marriage.”
I jerked my chin out the door. Both my parents stared at me, wide-eyed.
“Go on. You know how to use your legs, don’t you?”
Walked away from me enough times in your lives, I was tempted to add.
Mother’s eyes glittered while she tried to pull herself together while Athair kept a solemn, dignified expression. The line had been drawn. They began to make their way out of the office. Mother stopped by the door and cupped my cheeks, gazing up at me.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice so soft only I could hear her. “I’m sorry for everything. You are right. You deserve better than what we made of our lives, Cillian.”
I kissed her cheek. “All forgiven.”
“Really?”
I gave her a curt nod. “Now get out.”
Next, it was my father’s turn to stop by the door. His eyes crinkled with a mixture of annoyance and delight.