Page 123 of Braving the Storm

Storm makes a low, velvety noise that travels through my entire body. It’s comforting and warming, and as the ripple of that humming sound extends everywhere like a soft glow, he wraps me tighter. Hugging me to his chest, encased securely within his powerful arms, the man who owns my heart takes a deep inhale through his nose.

“I’m happy you’re still here, darlin’.”

“You’recertain the property in Crimson Ridge is untouchable?” My steps have nearly worn through the tiles of this ostentatious kitchen while I’ve been pacing up and down, speaking with Clara on the other end of the phone line.

I don’t give a fuck that Antoine or Crispin might record or listen in on this entire conversation; in fact, I’m perfectly happy if they hear what my lawyer has to say. It just adds weight to the fact that even though they might threaten to scrub my name from anything relating to Lane Enterprises—not that I want a rotten cent to come my way from now on—I have an assurance that they cannot touch my home.

“No, Briar. You’re entirely safe, that property has, in fact, always been in your name, it was never legally your father’s. I can see from the documents here in front of me, the trust was set up not long before your birth, by Jan and Ingrid Lane.”

“My grandparents.” I breathe out a little shakily.

“Yes, they left the Crimson Ridge property registered to a trust under your name; legally, you own it. However, until you reached the age of eighteen, your father was considered the party responsible… you know, before you were an adult kind of deal.”

“So, what you’re saying is that my father hid it from me.”

“I wouldn’t like to make assumptions…”

“He hid it from me.” I nod my head to myself while taking in the ghost of my reflection in the glass overlooking the swimming pool.

“It does appear like he wasn’t interested in allowing you to know it existed.”

“That’s fancy lawyer speak that I shall choose to interpret as: your dad was a first-class asshole.”

Clara chuckles and doesn’t say anything.

“Well, we know he was busy hiding a lot of things, so here we are.”

“How are you feeling about all of this? Remember, I will be right here if you need to deflect any questions my way.”

As she says the words, I hear the front door open, and voices echo off the polished tiles.

“Ok, they’re here. We’re really doing this. You’ve got the car waiting for me?” Chewing the inside of my lip, I drop my voice a little lower.

“The driver is already parked outside. If they try anything, I’ve got my contact at the local station doing a routine patrol of your street, and they can be at your house within minutes if needed.”

“Just make sure it’s notmewho’s the one getting arrested if they do get called in.”

“Don’t actually bite them, and you should be good.” Clara deadpans. “You know what? On second thought, do what you want, I’m sure I can make it seem like you tripped and fell teeth-first.”

Blowing out a low breath, I put the phone on speaker and lay it flat on the gleaming white bench. In the exact same spot where I left the evidence of Antoine’s rampant infidelity a couple of months ago.

As I watch both my soon-to-be ex-husband and my sister arrive, I plaster on the fakest smile I can muster, considering the circumstances.

“Briar, this needs to be quick. I’ve got meetings on my calendar all afternoon.” Antoine doesn’t even look up from his phone. My sister trails behind him, evidently still with that stick firmly wedged up her bony ass.

“Oh, don’t worry, it won’t take long at all. In fact, I have to meet my own lawyer shortly, so it’ll be worth all of our while if we handle this promptly.”

I glance quickly at the phone, seeing Clara’s name still illuminated on the screen as she listens in.

Cris rolls her eyes. “Typical, Briar. Making this all about you and being hysterical. Did we really need to come all the way out here for whatever this is?” She dumps her handbag on the countertop and adjusts her high ponytail. My sister sports her requisite cream-colored, matching designer yoga bra and leggings, looking every inch the LA native.

Ignoring her snipe, I gather up one of the piles of paperwork already laid out before me.

“Antoine, I need your signature on these documents, please.” I push the tabbed and annotated divorce papers toward him with a pen. “Crispin, I don’t want, or need, anything from you, but this should make it nice and easy for us to never have to cross paths again, as this is my statement and legal filing already submitted to the Lane Enterprises board.”

Scooping up the second set of papers, I shove them in her direction.

In my head, I start counting down.