The Marriage Recipe. Michele Dunaway
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Anytime you have a question or comment you have to speak up. That’s important if we’re going to get the results we want. The way I see it, engagements are oral contracts. He promised to be faithful and marry you. He broke that contract. You have the right to demand that he compensate you for your mental anguish and your expenses.”
“That’s legal?” she asked. “There’s a law regulating fidelity?”
Colin smiled. “A lot of legal maneuvering is just strategy. He demands—we demand. We negotiate a truce. If he’s so worried about scandal, I doubt he wants to take this to court, where one, the suit becomes public record, and two, he risks getting an unfavorable judge, one who might have had her husband cheat on her, or a boyfriend on her daughter, or something like that.”
“Ah,” Rachel said, although she still didn’t quite understand. Still, Colin seemed certain, and she’d always been able to trust him. “So you don’t expect them to really file anything?”
He shook his head, a strand of blond hair falling across his right eye. He brushed it back, and a gold cuff link twinkled. “I don’t think they will. Once court is involved, things get pricey and everyone’s out a lot of money.”
“Except the lawyers. I guess this is why only the lawyers get rich,” Rachel said.
“Yeah, Marco’s lawyer will bill for his time no matter where this goes. At this stage the case is easy money. Write a letter and send the client a bill.”
“Sounds mercenary,” Rachel said. “No wonder Shakespeare wrote, ‘First thing we do is kill all the lawyers.’”
He shot her a look that said, Give me a break. “Gee, thanks. I’ll save your recipes, maybe get you some money in the process, and I’ll still be in a scummy profession.”
“I didn’t say that. You know me. I was just quoting.” Rachel reached for her coat, her sobbing fit concluded. Back in place was the strong woman of action who refused to be defeated. The pity party was over. Colin would not see her as a weakling again.
“By the way, that wasn’t what Shakespeare meant. You used the words out of context. Characters in the play were trying to plan a rebellion and figured they needed to take down the legal system to do it. You and your quotations.” Colin grinned. “It’s good to know some things haven’t changed. Do you remember that night we had the champagne? I’ve never had anyone spout as many quotations in my ear as you did. That’s how I knew you were tipsy.”
“I was young. It didn’t take much alcohol to make me drunk,” Rachel said brusquely. They’d kissed, and now was not the time to rehash how memorable that had been—not. “I’m no longer a lightweight. One thing about working at an Italian restaurant, I drank a lot of wine.”
“Maybe we’ll have to discover what type of stuff you’re made of one night when neither of us is driving,” Colin said. His phone rang, and he picked it up and listened to his paralegal. “Just have her hold for a moment. I’m wrapping up now.”
Rachel couldn’t help herself. “Girlfriend?”
“Client,” Colin said. He shot her a wicked grin. “Why? Interested?”
She shrugged, cool and composed. “Only for the sake of having some fresh gossip to toss about the diner. It might take everyone’s attention off me.”
“Ah.” He nodded, as if not buying her explanation in the slightest. “I’ll stop by tomorrow and let you know about fees. I usually do lunch at Kim’s on Thursdays.”
“Prime-rib special,” Rachel said. “Been that way every week for at least twenty years.”
“And I try not to miss it. Tomorrow every seat will be full. Your mom and grandmother serve the best prime rib in town, even better than the stuff at the Sherman House in Batesville, and that’s fantastic. Do you want me to walk you out?”
She turned her head to ascertain if he was serious. She was used to walking the streets of New York at night. She could handle small-town Morrisville, one of the safest places on the planet. “No,” she said. “I’m not that bad off. Attend to your call. I can find the way.”
He sent her an appreciative smile. “Great. Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She’d just reached the door, when his voice had her glancing around. “Rachel?”
He held the phone, his hand covering the mouthpiece. “Yes?” she said.
“In case I forget to tell you this later, it’s good to have you back. And don’t worry, we’ll get him.” He stood there at his desk, impeccable in his blue broadcloth shirt, matching tie and dress pants.
“Don’t keep your caller waiting,” she chided, trying to tame her racing heart. She tugged her purse strap higher on her shoulder.
She did not need to start entertaining any silly notions about Colin. Her time in Morrisville was temporary. Not a life sentence. Just a quick hit before she went back to New York, even if she had to stay the full six months before her noncompete clause expired. She gave Colin one last glance. He was silhouetted against the windows, a man secure in his element and this small provincial town.
One she’d left long ago.
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