Page 27 of Overruled

Fourteen

Dani

“Yes, I’m Danica Pierce. I’m here to see Bianca?”

I’m pressing the button at her gate much harder than necessary, letting my frustrations seep into the little plastic bit like it’s personally offended me.

Which is completely unfair of me. It’s not the button’s fault I woke up this morning to an empty apartment and a cold couch and not even the bare minimum of a text explaining why the hell Ezra ghosted me.

Last night was odd enough, but to wake up this morning alone —no note, no explanation, no nothing—stings.

Which in turn just makes me angry. What the fuck was last night, and what the fuck was this morning?

I’m being stubborn and refusing to text him about it, waiting to see if he will first, but he doesn’t.

Which has done nothing for my mood this morning.

I’m not sure if I’m irritated or relieved to have the distraction of meeting with Bianca at her place for lunch; part of me is still considering marching down to Ezra’s office and demanding what the fuck happened, but it’s a small part.

One that is greatly overshadowed by another one shouting Not in this lifetime and He can choke .

I ignore my traitor brain whispering But who was doing the choking last night?

My cheeks heat as I finally let up on the button, sure that if it were alive, it would be screaming by now.

“Mrs. Casiraghi is expecting you,” a rough, male voice says through the gate speaker in a clipped tone.

The gate creaks as it begins to open, and I inch my car through as I pull into the well-manicured drive that circles in front of the large, stately house perched on the hill.

“Damn,” I say to no one, eyeing the perfectly trimmed hedges and the ornate front door that looks like it was some kind of custom job. Clearly, I’m in the wrong line of work.

I step out of my car and smooth my pantsuit, grabbing my briefcase from the passenger seat before making my way up the stone steps to knock on the massive oak door with the frosted glass windows.

It opens only a moment later, and at this point part of me was expecting to see some menacing butler with a scar running down his face glaring at me from the other side, so I’m relieved to be met with Bianca’s staple red lips and sharp eyes instead.

“Danica,” she greets, gesturing that I come. “So glad you could make it.”

“Right,” I say. “Sorry. You really didn’t need to feed me. I would have been happy to do this at my office.”

She waves a hand in front of her face. “I sit in this house all day by myself. It is good to have company now and then.”

“Sure,” I agree, letting my eyes take in the massive entryway with the sparkly chandelier overhead. “Your house is beautiful.”

“Yes, well,” she scoffs, closing the door behind me. “Thankfully, Lorenzo’s taste in decor is as bad as his taste in women, so I picked everything out.”

“Current company excluded, of course,” I say with a grin.

She nods, her lips curling. “Of course.” She wraps her hand around my forearm. “Come in, come in. We’re going to have lunch on the veranda. It is such a nice day, after all.”

Sure, if you’re not carrying around your own personal rain cloud because you went down on a guy and fell asleep with him just for him to ghost you.

“It is,” I say instead. “That sounds great.”

“Let me just check on the food, yes? Look around. Enjoy my good taste.”

I laugh softly as she disappears into another room, doing as she says and wandering around the wide sitting room.

There is a chaise longue that looks too nice to sit on, and a wall of shelves just behind it that boasts books and pictures and little trinkets that sparkle in a way that makes me suspicious of their carat count.

I step closer to browse, noticing several books on real estate law that make me feel sleepy just reading the spines.

There are several framed photos here though, and I feel a twinge of sadness for Bianca to notice so many of a younger version of her and Lorenzo looking very happy in most of them.

I imagine she hasn’t gotten around to putting them away, or maybe, deep down, it’s still too hard for her to do so even with all her bluster.

It just proves the real deal isn’t so real.

One frame at the end of the shelf catches my eye, tucked beside a dusty old book and a heavy bookend. I pick it up, frowning, studying the two men smiling back when I hear Bianca’s footsteps reentering the room.

I hold up the photo for her perusal. “How long has Lorenzo known Alexander Hart?”

“Eh?” She steps closer, plucking the frame from me. “Ah. Terrible man, Alexander. I never liked him much.”

“So they’ve known each other for a long time?”

“Many years, yes,” she says with a nod. “I don’t know what it is about him that I do not like, but there was always something…

” She frowns as her gaze lingers on the photo, finally shaking the thought away before placing the frame back on the shelf.

“Perhaps some part of me knew he would be helping Lorenzo hide his wrongdoings.”

“I’m sorry,” I offer. “I wasn’t trying to dredge up bad feelings.”

Bianca laughs. “I am old, and my husband is giving his cock to some puttana under my nose. I live in bad feelings.”

“Sorry,” I say again.

She shakes her head. “Do not apologize. Bad feelings make us strong. If there are no bad feelings, we would not appreciate the good ones. Understand?”

I nod dumbly. Bianca doesn’t even look upset as she says it, and I think idly that I’d definitely like to be her when I grow up. Maybe sans the whole cheating-husband thing.

“Anyway,” she says. “The food is not quite done. We will have tea while we wait.”

She turns on her heel, not leaving room for argument, and I take one last look at the photo of a young Lorenzo and Alexander, frowning.

There’s nothing dear about Alexander Hart.

I immediately brush off the thought. We are not thinking about Ezra right now, I tell myself for the dozenth time. I follow Bianca instead, putting all the Hart men far from my mind.

···

“Ridiculous question,” Bianca scoffs.

“But it’s one they’re going to ask,” I sigh.

This entire exercise has been less than fruitful. Given all the surprises that Bianca has sprung on me thus far, prepping for our first day in court seemed prudent. Getting caught off guard in mediation is one thing; having egg on my face in front of a judge is quite another.

“I don’t see why it is so important to talk about something from so long ago,” Bianca says stubbornly.

I frown. “You filed for divorce before, Bianca. A judge is going to be curious why you didn’t follow through. Especially given the inconvenient timing with the issue of your trust fund taking such a hit.”

She takes a slow sip of her tea, looking thoughtful.

So far when we’ve talked about this, she’s been less than forthcoming.

I’ve gotten nothing but vague answers and brush-offs regarding her first filing and withdrawal so many years ago.

I know that “I changed my mind” is not going to satisfy Ezra or anyone else in the courtroom, I just need to drive that home to the stubborn woman sitting in front of me.

“I believe you when you say that withdrawing your petition had nothing to do with your trust,” I go on. “I really do. But you have to understand, the opposing counsel is going to paint a very specific picture. One that does not cast you in a flattering light. It won’t look good to a judge.”

“What is the point of having all Lorenzo’s disgusting emails if I still have to broadcast my business for strangers?”

“Because as disgusting as those emails are, they’re going to say it’s circumstantial, because unfortunately, it is. At least in the eyes of a judge. We can’t prove without a doubt that someone didn’t use Lorenzo’s computer to send them, even if you and I know it’s ridiculous to even consider.”

“No one will believe such nonsense,” she snorts.

“Again, unfortunately, it’s not what you believe, it’s what you can prove in court.

” I lean to set my saucer and cup on the patio table between us, giving her a sympathetic expression.

“I don’t want to lie to you, so I won’t.

They’re going to say this is all about the money.

Yes, we know that your trust is fine, but with a preestablished history of it being in jeopardy in the past, they’re going to say that you’re just trying to make sure you’re taken care of.

Maybe even that you’re vindictive. That you and Lorenzo had grown apart, and this is your way of taking your revenge.

Honestly, there are a dozen ridiculous things they could say to sway things to their side.

I want to make sure we’re prepared for all of them.

Starting with the real reason you filed for divorce and then changed your mind shortly after. ”

Bianca turns her head to stare out across her yard, eyeing the flower beds that line the tiled space we’re currently lounging in. There is an array of white tulips swaying gently in the breeze, and Bianca’s gaze is far away as she regards them.

“Do you know what white tulips symbolize?”

I flick my gaze to where she’s still watching them, shaking my head. “I don’t.”

“They mean ‘I’m sorry,’?” she tells me. “Lorenzo gave me such a large bouquet when he first broke my heart.”

“Bianca, I—”

She holds up a hand, meeting my gaze. “I will tell you everything, but you must promise me that you will find a way to keep it from the courtroom, yes? I will not be shamed further. Promise me, Danica.”

“I…” I don’t know if it’s something I can or should promise her, but it’s the first time I’ve seen this strong, confident woman look vulnerable, and the crack in her normally solid demeanor makes me want to try. “I’ll do my best.”

She nods, taking another slow sip from her cup, thinking. “I can’t have children.”

“You can’t?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “I found out only two years into our marriage.”