Page 28 of Overruled

I sense there’s more to the story, but I want to be patient. To let her tell it in her own time.

“When we were younger, Lorenzo was…different. Before the money, he was doting. He was kind. I was smitten after our first meeting. My father did not approve; Lorenzo was not the sort of man he saw me marrying. Lorenzo came from a family with nothing to their name, and where I come from, your name is everything.”

“But you married him.”

There’s a flash of that same wistful smile. “I have always been stubborn. We married in secret. My family almost shunned me for what I did, but eventually, they came around. Lorenzo was charming, after all. They saw the drive in him. It was always known Lorenzo would be successful.”

“This was in Italy?”

She nods. “We moved here in 1992. Lorenzo always said our future was here, and I always believed everything Lorenzo said. When we first came here, we lived in a tiny house with almost no money. My trust was not to be touched until I was twenty-five, since my father wanted to make sure Lorenzo was not with me only for the money.”

“How old were you then?”

“Only twenty-two,” she says. “Too young to be in a strange, new place, but I believed Lorenzo when he said he would take care of me.” She looks thoughtful then. “He did for a while.”

“But something changed,” I venture.

She nods solemnly. “Lorenzo always wanted children, as did I, and we were excited to start a family. We tried for many months, but after so long it become clear something was wrong.”

My stomach tightens at the palpable grief etched into her tone, knowing there is no happy ending here. Without thinking, I reach across the table to place my hand over hers, squeezing it lightly. Bianca gives me a brittle, sad smile.

“Lorenzo’s business was still small, just beginning to grow,” she goes on.

“He was always so stressed—stretched so thin trying to shake the right hands, to make friends with the right people. He was so desperate to be who he believed he was meant to be.” She swallows thickly.

“When we learned I could not have children…it drove us apart.”

She goes silent, her eyes glassy with unshed tears, and it breaks my heart, seeing this strong woman in obvious pain from such an old memory. “Bianca,” I say gently. “What happened?”

“I came home to them. In our bed , Danica. The shame I felt…the grief , knowing he had strayed from me because of the failure of my own body.”

“Bianca,” I choke, my voice tight.

“I realized then that Lorenzo was not the man I thought he was. My Lorenzo would never touch another. Not when I still grieved what would never be for us. I did not know this Lorenzo.”

“So you filed for divorce.”

“Yes.” She nods, still trying to collect herself.

“I couldn’t look at him. He begged for my forgiveness, but it was too hard.

I could not forget.” She lets out a laugh that sounds bitter, shaking her head.

“But as I said…Lorenzo has always been charming. Somehow…he convinced me to stay. That things would be different. That he loved me. That it was a mistake .” She turns her head, staring out at the tulips again.

“I was young and foolish. I should have never stayed. Maybe things would be different for me now.”

“Bianca, I…” I don’t think there are words I can say that will make her feel better; I’m sure if there were, she would have already heard them a dozen times over by now.

I can’t imagine what it would be like to forgive someone for such a thing only to realize so many years later they never stopped hurting you in secret. “I’m sorry,” I settle on.

“It is the past,” she tells me. “It is my mistake, and I will live with it.” She meets my eyes then, her gaze harder.

“But I will not live with him making a fool of me, do you understand? Not again. Not after everything he has already taken from me. This time, I want it to be him who is made to be a fool.”

Her secrets and her dodginess make so much more sense now; I can’t imagine being faced with reliving a pain like that in front of a room of strangers. I resolve that I will do whatever I can within my power to make sure she never has to.

I give her hand another squeeze. “I’m going to do that for you,” I promise her, still unsure if it’s a wise move. “We’re going to make sure he is the fool this time.”

Bianca nods, her mouth tilting at the corners, but only just. “Like a powerful woman.”

“Exactly,” I tell her with a grin.

This earns me a real chuckle, and she slips her hand from beneath mine, patting the back before reaching for her teacup. “I hope you would never let a man make a fool of you like I have,” she tuts. “You are much too smart.”

“You’d be surprised,” I mutter, remembering this morning when I woke up alone on my couch.

Bianca cocks an eyebrow at me. “You have man troubles?”

“No.” I wave her off. I’m not about to get into this…thing between Ezra and me after hearing her story. They can’t begin to compare. “Nothing worth talking about.”

“Danica,” she laughs. “One thing I have learned about men—if it is worth thinking about, it is worth talking about.”

“I’m…not very good at that,” I tell her honestly. “Talking about things.”

Bianca shrugs. “If you cannot talk about it, then you should not do it.”

She says it so simply, as if it is simple, even when it feels so far from it.

I want to tell her that this back-and-forth game I’ve been playing with Ezra isn’t worth talking about at all, but then I realize how much I’ve been plagued with thoughts of it since the moment I woke up alone on my couch, and it makes me wonder if she’s right.

If the fact that I can’t stop thinking about it somehow means I should talk about it.

Not to her, obviously. She has enough on her plate. But maybe…

I shake away those thoughts. It’s not something I should be worrying about right now.

“We have more questions I’d like to go over,” I say, changing the subject. “We’ll circle back around to your petition of divorce. We’ll think of a diplomatic answer. I promise.”

“This is why I hired you,” she says matter-of-factly.

A grin spreads across my face. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

Bianca excuses herself to check on lunch then, and the weight of my phone in my pocket feels heavier after her words, almost impossible to ignore.

I wrestle with the idea for what feels like a long time before I work it out of my pocket, biting my lower lip when I notice his name on my screen for the first time today.

Don’t open it, I tell myself. It’s just going to upset you.

Which has me spiraling about why Ezra has the power to upset me. What a fucking mess.

I open the damned thing anyway.

Asshole: Are you going to ignore me all day?

I feel my chest heat in anger, my fingers already tapping across the screen.

Me: Ignoring you implies you’ve said something to me, which you haven’t.

Asshole: I was waiting for you to text me.

Me: Oh? Was I supposed to glean that from you sneaking out of my apartment this morning?

Asshole: I didn’t sneak out. I wanted to give you space to process.

Me: There’s nothing to process. It was an accident. We just fell asleep. It wasn’t a big deal.

Asshole: Dani.

Me: Ezra.

There’s a pause as I watch the dots pop up and disappear over and over again, and I am loath to admit how tightly I grip my phone, how closely I watch them as I wait for his reply. It takes him a full minute to finally respond.

Asshole: Let me know when you’re home. I want to call you and talk about it.

Me: I don’t have anything to say.

Asshole: Don’t be stubborn.

Me: I’m not being anything.

Asshole: Fine. Let me know when you’re home, so I can call to go over the list of interrogatories.

I clench my teeth. He really is an asshole, pulling this. He knows it’s not something I can refuse. Not with our first court date looming. Now it’s me typing and erasing a dozen times before settling on:

Me: Fine. Work only.

Asshole: Sure thing, Dani.

I’m just starting to seethe at his blasé tone, one I can sense through text, can practically hear the sigh following, but Bianca’s voice interrupts what was surely going to be an incoherent response.

“I hope you’re hungry,” she says kindly, holding a tray of something that smells delicious.

I stow my phone back in my pocket, but not without squeezing it too tight for the briefest of moments. “Starved,” I tell her.

“But no work while we eat,” she tells me sternly. “We will practice your questions after.”

I can’t help the quiet laugh that escapes me. “Fine, fine. You’re the boss.”

“Powerful woman,” she teases.

My smile is bright, even if thoughts of Ezra are still lingering at the back of my mind. “You’re goddamned right.”