Chapter 2

ELORA

Pop.

I grabbed the hot bread from the toaster with my bare hands and dropped it into my plate.

I swear I wasn't trying to be a masochist. I was just out of patience this morning.

While I waited for the chunk of butter I'd just scraped over the toast to melt, I heard a scuff of feet behind me.

I looked towards the doorway.

He was standing by the island looking like a miniature yacht owner. Crisp slacks and a stiff shirt with leather shoes. The tiny briefcase, too. I had to hold back the pout forming on my lips.

"All prepared for school, I see," I said as I wiped butter off the knife and then tossed it into the sink.

Jamie nodded, though his eyes dropped to my plate.

"Can I have some?"

"Didn't you already eat this morning?"

"I did," he admitted. "But I love your toast. Mommy won't let me have yours, so..."

To my amusement, the four-year-old pulled the edge of his pants pocket open. He shot me a very serious look. "You can just hide it right here."

I couldn't help the snort that escaped me. "Yeah, no. Stuffing food in your pockets is a bad habit. Plus, you have to listen to your mom. She knows what's best for you."

"But yours is crunchier," he grumbled as he let the pocket drop in defeat.

I barely had a second to revel in my superior toasting skills when a rapid-fire clack-clack-clack of heels started coming our way.

Vanessa appeared behind her son and snapped at him.

"What did I tell you about loitering in the kitchen?"

She pulled him a step back from the island. "And you know better than to crease your clothes before school. Come on."

Jamie's tiny briefcase suddenly looked a lot heavier as she spun him around and marched him back out into the hall.

I continued with breakfast like none of that just happened.

If anyone ever wondered why my husband's ex was living under the same roof as us, they could thank Cedric's aunt for that. Vanessa was allegedly suffering from a post-partum heart condition at the time she showed up four years ago with Jamie. So Victoria used her manipulation and moved Vanessa into her own quarters of the mansion under the guise of being a distant relative. It was supposed to be a temporary arrangement until she "recovered."

Here we were, four years later.

Vanessa crossed her arms over her chest as she strolled back into the kitchen.

"Why were you trying to feed my child behind my back?" she demanded.

I took a delicious bite out of my bread without a single word.

"Since you don't have a child of your own, I guess I shouldn't be surprised you're trying to poison mine with your unhealthy garbage."

This woman probably drank a gallon of trouble before bed every night so she could wake up in the morning brimming with it. The only good thing I could ever say about Vanessa was her sweet little kid.

When Vanessa saw that I wouldn't react to her, she walked over and smacked my bread right out of my hands before I could take another bite.

The toast landed butter-side down on the floor.

I slowly closed my eyes and pushed my lips to the side, taking a deep breath. God, not today.

I didn't want to do something I'd regret. Or maybe something I'd enjoy a little too much.

I picked up the bread and dropped it into the trash can. Breakfast was officially over. I wiped my hands on a towel and headed for the living room.

"I'm not finished with you." Vanessa blocked my path.

"Get out of my way, Vanessa. I'm in no mood for your antics this morning."

She sneered, "Oh, you haven't seen any of my antics just yet."

I flashed a close-mouthed smile.

"Vanessa? Get out of my way. Don't test me," I sang the warning with the same patronizing pitch I'd use on a misbehaving preschooler.

"Or what?" she retorted.

That smugness on her face instantly died as I shoved her out of my way. She collided against a nearby lamp with a gasp.

Almost immediately after, the heavy notes of Cedric's cologne began to drift into the space.

Vanessa must have smelled it too, because she suddenly flung herself on the ground and started gasping for air, clutching her chest.

Believe me, I was so over it I couldn't even roll my eyes.

Cedric rushed towards Vanessa as soon as he saw her on the ground. He just dropped to his knees beside her dramatically flailing body.

"What happened to her?" He looked up at me with wild eyes.

"Why are you asking me? Am I her doctor?"

He scooped Vanessa into his arms and carried her out of the kitchen, barking at one of the passing housekeepers to go fetch her medication.

I followed at a leisurely pace, watching Vanessa put on a masterclass in terrible acting from the safety of Cedric's chest. She was panting like a dog in a hot car.

"Oh god," I groaned sarcastically. "You've been acting this same melodrama for four years and you're still an amateur at it."

Vanessa shot me a dead glare from Cedric's shoulder, but didn't stop gasping. Even when he laid her on the sofa.

"Shouldn't you have Googled how to hyperventilate by now? Or at least watched a few tutorials—"

"Elora," Cedric snapped.

"Don't Elora me," I shot back.

We locked eyes in the tense silence that followed.

"Besides, I've been waiting for you all morning. Now that you're here, I have something to discuss with you," I told him.

"Meet me upstairs, Cedric."

Cedric joined me in his study about three minutes later, after he was done coddling Vanessa's tantrum.

He shut the door. "What did you want to discuss?"

It suddenly occurred to me that it was in this same room I'd met Cedric for the first time. I'd come to pick something up for Arthur and I saw him sitting in that chair.

We'd shaken hands.

I quickly trashed the memory as I pulled out a document from the envelope I was holding. I held it out to him.

"I filed for a divorce."

Cedric blinked a few times. He didn't say anything right away but his eyes were fixed on the paper.

"Take it to your legal team and do whatever procedure you need done on your end. Just get it signed."

He slowly stepped closer and took the document. As the paper left my fingers, a sudden rush of air swept up my arm.

All those years of playing second best in a charade were now all summed up in a single stack of legal jargon. It was finally going to be over. We would go our separate ways.

I was lifting the burden of this forced arrangement off his shoulders, so he could go play house in peace.

I waited for the relief to wash over his face, and then for him to reach for his favourite fountain pen.

I wasn't expecting to hear him say,

"We're not getting a divorce."