Page 1 of Faithless

CHAPTER 1

Whitney

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I’m less than impressed with the website for the law offices of Stephen R. Garcia, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s not a competent divorce lawyer, just that he needs to employ a more competent web designer.

But what do I know about the websites of competent lawyers? I have no clue how to find one outside of Google. People in my income bracket usually know all the best services around. At least, that’s the way it seems. Mark always knows the best providers within thirty miles of Santa Barbara, and if he doesn’t, he knows who to ask.

Then again, Mark is the CEO of a large company, while I haven’t had a real job since the nineties. I’ve lived in this limited world, depending on Mark for everything, because that was exactly how he wanted it. He preferred to keep me on a tight leash.

I accepted that because I felt guilty.

I guess I’ve also accepted it out of laziness. Branching out will take a mental and emotional fortitude I’ve been too tired to summon. Mental, because I know I will have to learn to take care of myself after years of having everything taken care of for me by Mark. Emotional, because I’ll have to deal with his antics. He won’t like, and he’ll fight me with everything he’s got.

Which is probably why I’m only just now doing it at forty-two years old. I couldn’t break out of my small little world until I became numb enough to face the unknown without fear.

I’m about to pick up Mark’s office phone to make the call to Stephen Garcia’s office when the door opens, and Mark peeks his head inside.

Irritation flares at the sight of him. He looks handsome and youthful with his light-blue collared shirt and his slim-fit jeans. His dark, wavy hair is nearly as thick as it was when I met him over twenty-three years ago. He’s dressed for a date, probably with one of his girls. Maybe with Lauren, who sent him those naked photos. Having seen her supple perkiness, I know she can’t be much older than her early twenties. She’s a makeup influencer, something I only understand after my fifteen-year-old daughter explained it to me.

I can’t even imagine what they talk about. Does he know all about the brands that sponsor her and how much they pay? Does she ask him about the process of manufacturing and selling agricultural equipment?

“I’m headed for Camarillo,” Mark says.

Ah, yes. The Romano Farms meeting. So he won’t be hooking up with the influencer from Coronado. Maybe the server from Twenty88?

“Will you be gone for the weekend?” I ask, knowing the answer already. I’m used to the flimsy excuses he uses to stay overnight in cities barely an hour away.

“Probably. I have the Esposito meeting first thing Monday morning. I’ll be able to sleep longer if I stay at the beach house.”

The beach house we purchased in Newport when we already live in a mansion overlooking the Santa Barbara coast. The beach house we purchased five years ago to make his LA meetings “less of a hassle.”

All code for making his affairs less of an embarrassment for me.

I shouldn’t still feel this hollow pit in my stomach. It’s been far, far too long. Over fifteen years now. I should be long accustomed to it all. I made my choice, after all. I chose to stay in this marriage and see it through, even when I knew it would be like this.

I knew he would never forgive me.

I take a deep breath, bracing myself. There’s no need to put it off any longer. Not when he’s already told me he’ll be away for the weekend. Neither of us will be forced to pretend for the sake of the kids. We’ll have seventy-two hours apart to recover from the aftermath of the bomb I’m about to drop.

Mark moves as if to leave, but I stop him. “Wait.”

He stares at me, lifting his brows.

I know this look well. The please-get-on-with-it look. Please don’t waste too much of my precious time with your trivial existence. He probably thinks I’m going to ask him something silly, like about picking up almond milk on the way home.

His disdainful impatience makes me more abrupt than I intended when I make my announcement. “I want a divorce.”

His brow-lifted expression holds for a few seconds before a smile edges at his lips. “Okay, Whitney.” His tone is still full of impatience.

He doesn’t believe I really mean it.

When he makes a move as if to leave again, I stand up from my desk. “I really mean it this time. I’ve found a divorce lawyer already, and I was about to make a call to his office to set up an appointment.” My lips close. The thought of going to a lawyer’s office by myself, without Mark’s help, makes a prickling sensation spread over my skin. Oh God, this is going to be hard. Even in my numbness, it’s going to be hard.

I swallow as I look at Mark. “I really don’t want things to get ugly between us. My primary goal is to protect the kids’ inheritances. Stephen Garcia has the highest ratings on Google, even if that seems like a silly way to find a divorce lawyer, like picking out a restaurant—”

Mark holds a firm hand in the air, his lips parted as if in incredulous disbelief. “Are you being serious?”

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