Page 117 of Ella Gets the D
“Oh.” She wipes the counter with a nod and zero game at hiding her crush. “That was nice of him.” She clears her throat. “Did you have a good time?”
Up until I found out his ex-fiancée and I had been trading dick.“Yeah, it was nice to get away. Montreal is beautiful. How were the kids?”
“The same as when you asked me before you boarded the plane.” She chuckles. “They’re upstairs watching other kids play games on YouTube. Since when is that entertaining?”
My lips curl. “Where have you been?”
“Clearly in the wilderness. What’s that?” Mama nods at the long envelope in my hand.
“I don’t know.” I turn it over for a hint at the source. “Maybe Grier dropped it off since she knew I was coming back today. I fulfill my separation requirement tomorrow to file for divorce.”
Warm brown eyes light up. “How quickly a year goes when you’re happy.” She turns back to the stove with her palette of spices and starts talking about Easter service with the kids andMs. Thelma today. She rattles off something about Katharine almost catching the holy ghost when the choir sang “Melodies From Heaven” before the dizziness returns.
My lungs heave. I clutch my throat and fasten a hand on the counter to support my shaky knees, which are ready to collapse. A letter-size photo that shouldn’t be in the world, let alone this envelope, floats to the ground.
How?
Chapter 44
Julian
Something is wrong.
I gave Ella space on Monday, texting once to tell her I love her and how sorry I am about everything. Camila’s decisions are hers and hers alone, but it doesn’t remove the sting of someone I once cared for hurting the woman I love.
Yesterday morning, I tried to brush off the prickling suspicion that something more than photos of me with Camila was causing her silence. Work gets busy for both of us, and wrangling kids solo is no walk in the park. Then last night came, and I knew her rain check on Taco Tuesday was a red flag. I’m attuned to her needs, and El would chew off her own arm before turning down two al pastors with extrapico de gallo.
Every worst-case scenario ran laps through my head.
Was there a problem with the paperwork Grier submitted to the court?
Is there a push for a hearing?
Do we have to wait months until a judge signs the final divorce decree?
The last one is an inconvenience but not the end of the world. I’d wait a lifetime for her.
Ella said she’d be in touch, and she asked for space to take care of a few things, which wouldn’t be a problem if I didn’t know in my gut that something is wrong. Just like I do now heading into this meeting.
I open the door to the conference room the same way I do every day: with a silent prayer that this won’t be a waste of time. Every day, I see the same oak table I crawled under with my toys as a kid when my dad was on calls. But the air is thicker now—heavy with a pressing weight that shows in Chanda’s expression. Our PR consultant staring back at me with her band of merry fixers isn’t new territory, but my mother dressed in a black suit at eight in the morning and wearing a glare of her own is.
“Hi.”
It’s the only response that comes to mind at the Dora Milaje who are looking at me like I offed a congressperson and asked them to hide the body. Chanda’s all-women team might as well be the special forces. They won’t let any threat penetrate my family’s business or good name. If my mother’s here, something summoned the queen.
I take the seat next to her and wait for Chanda to reveal how it is I fucked up. I ditched a ballet fundraiser last week to go away for Ella’s birthday, soaking in her smiles and reveling in the warmth between her thighs. She needed a trip away, and I was happy to oblige.
Whoever is mad can stay that way. But a plié and flesh-toned stockings wouldn’t cause Claire Brooke to unwrap her hair before nine, so what did?
Chanda picks up the remote for the flat-screen TV we use for presentations and takes a breath. “My soror at The Capitol Tea Report gave me a heads-up late last night about a story running today.”
And?
My mouth doesn’t say it, but my face sure as hell does. This is the reason we came into the office an hour early in DC traffic? A blog? It’s one of the biggest in the region and a leading thorn in my ass, sure, but still.
We could’ve kept thisNew Jack Cityreenactment for another day—or a justifiable reason. You’d think we were hosting a funeral with all these in memoriam outfits.
Did someone die?
