Page 56 of The Villa

Always a tell with Matt.

“I called because your lawyer hasn’t gotten a response from you on the dissolution filing,” he says, and I frown.

“What?”

Matt’s sigh may come from thousands of miles away over a cell phone, but I swear I can feel it. “We talked about this. I think we should go for the dissolution of marriage now since the divorce is… obviously going to take awhile.”

He doesn’t come right out and say that it’s my fault, but of course that’s what he means. Because if only I’d agree to give him those royalties, this could all be over, and wouldn’t that be nice?

A dissolution of marriage is a sort of in-between. It will mean we’re no longer legally married, but that we still haven’t finished hashing out the financial stuff of the actual divorce. My lawyer told me it’s pretty common when one of the parties is ready to move on with someone else.

But then Matt already jumped the gun on that, didn’t he?

“I haven’t checked my email,” I tell him now. “And I’ve been working so—”

“Right, I’ve heard,” he says.

Outside, the sun is setting, and I can hear the gentle twittering of birds, the sound of wind in the trees.

Inside, I’m very still.

“What does that mean?” I ask, but what I really mean isWho told you that?

Two people know. Rose and Chess. That’s it. Maybe he emailed Rose and asked her. Maybe his lawyer did. That’s the only thing that makes sense to me right now, the only thing I’llletmake sense to me now.

“You know, Em,” Matt says, and I picture him sitting forward, his eyes darting around the office as he lowers his voice. “If you’re working on a new book just to fuck me over—”

I bark out a laugh. “Right! Because everything in my life is about you, I forgot!”

“I’m serious,” he continues, a little louder now. “If you write something else just to get out of paying me what I’m owed for the next Petal book, I’ll sue you for part of that, too.”

I feel my stomach drop. He’s bluffing.

He has to be. No one would let him have part of a book I wroteafterwe split up. But the thought of it sticks in my gut, twists like a knife.

This project, which has started pulling me out of the hole I’ve been in for the past year… it’s a thing Matt would make another anchor around my neck.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask him now, and I hate how pleading it sounds. “Youleft, remember? Why punish me?”

“This isn’t about punishment. Jesus, you always do this. I took care of you. I supported you.”

I can practically see him ticking off his fingers.

“I put in all this effort, Em. I wanted to save us. I wanted to saveyou. Look, if it were up to me, we’d still be living inthe house we bought together, raising our child.You’rethe one who changed. Not me.”

I feel the blood rush to my cheeks. “Matt, I got sick. I didn’t change.”

“You said you wanted a baby, but you never wanted to have sex, and then I found out you were still taking the pill. Even after you promised to stop, you never did.”

“Because I wassick,” I say again. “I didn’t want to fuck with my hormones when I didn’t know what was wrong with me.”

“You lied to me,” he insists. “Which means I spent seven years of my life with someone, thinking we wanted the same things when, clearly, we didn’t. Seven years. So, excuse me if I want a little return on my investment.”

I give a bitter laugh at that. “Serves me right for marrying an accountant, huh?”

“Am I wrong?” he presses, and I don’t answer. He is and he isn’t, and, honestly, maybe ostriches have the better idea because right now, I don’t feel better.

I just feel tired.

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