Page 47 of Overruled

Twenty-Six

Dani

“Now, when he calls you to the stand, don’t give them any emotion,” I remind Bianca as we settle into our seats at the front of the courtroom.

Bianca gives me an imperious look. “When have I struck you as emotional, Danica?”

“Fair,” I sigh. “I just know they’re going to throw everything they have at you today.”

“I am prepared for what this man wants to say about me,” she says with a cluck of her tongue. “I do not fear a man just because he wears a suit.”

I grin, shaking my head as I jot something down. “Just remember what we talked about,” I encourage. “Stick to what we rehearsed. No more surprises.”

“You must let things go, Danica,” Bianca huffs. “Your long memory will give you wrinkles if you are not careful.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I chuckle. I really do sort of love this woman.

I hear the chair opposite our table scraping across the floor, turning my head as Ezra settles into his seat.

I’ve gotten very good at keeping my expression neutral when we’re in court; the last thing I need is for someone to catch me ogling him, as he puts it, but I have to admit that he looks…

utterly delicious in his three-piece navy suit.

He flashes me a smile from his seat, and I have to bite my lip not to return it, allowing myself only a few seconds to appreciate the way his suit jacket hugs his broad shoulders perfectly before giving my attention back to my notepad in front of me.

Still my mind wanders to the night before—a quiet, easy night of Thai food in my living room while Ezra told me stories about his first disastrous mock trial in second year.

I almost smile at the memory; his animated recounting of forgetting all the precedents he’d memorized the moment he approached the stand had me laughing at an embarrassing decibel.

He’d slept over, and I have to admit, waking up with his warm body wrapped around me hadn’t been the worst thing in the world.

Not that I’ll ever admit that to him.

“I see Lorenzo’s puttana is now attending,” Bianca mutters.

I turn to see Lorenzo’s mistress sitting in the seats on their side of the courtroom, my eyes widening. That’s a bold fucking move. Especially since it’s barely been a week since she fucked up on the stand and forgot her imaginary diagnosis. What the hell are they playing at?

“You can’t say ‘whore’ in court,” I hiss back.

“It is fine if no one knows I say it,” she says, waving me off.

“All rise,” the bailiff announces, quieting the ripple of low conversation throughout the room. The bailiff introduces the session, then the judge. “The Honorable Judge Harding is presiding.”

We all remain standing while Judge Harding enters the room and gets settled in her chair, only taking our seats when she gives us permission to do so.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” Harding drones. “Let’s all try to stay civil today, shall we?”

Bianca’s spine stiffens beside me, and I try not to flinch. There have been a few heated sessions in the last couple of weeks, I suppose. I had to physically clap a hand over Bianca’s mouth several times when Lorenzo’s mistress was on the stand last week.

Harding peers over her glasses at her notes in front of her. “I believe Mrs. Casiraghi is set to take the stand today, correct?”

“That’s correct, Your Honor,” Ezra answers, standing.

Harding nods at Bianca. “Mrs. Casiraghi.” She tilts her head toward the stand. “If you will.”

Bianca leaves her chair with her usual fluid grace, her head high and her nose in the air as she glides to the stand and settles into the seat behind it.

She never glances in Lorenzo’s direction while the bailiff swears her in, but when I look over, I find him glaring at the side of her face with open disdain. Prick.

Ezra carries a folder casually as he strolls toward where Bianca is seated, flashing her his best smile. It’s dangerous, that smile. “Good morning, Mrs. Casiraghi. It’s good to see you again.”

“Save your pleasantries,” she tuts. “Ask your questions.”

“Right,” Ezra chuckles, unruffled. “Straight to business then.”

Now that I’m allowing myself to appreciate it, it really is amazing, the way he can remain calm under almost any circumstances.

I once thought his general aloofness to be an insult to the craft, but I realize now that it’s a carefully constructed persona meant to unsettle someone with a weaker composure than Bianca’s. As it is, I’m not worried for her.

“Now, Mrs. Casiraghi,” he starts, keeping his attention on the page in front of him as if he’s trying to remember what he was going to ask. I know that’s a tactic as well. I fight to roll my eyes. “We spoke briefly while you were being deposed on the events of 1994, do you remember?”

“I remember,” Bianca answers primly.

“Now, just to clarify for the rest of the court, those events included you filing for divorce from your husband, Mr. Casiraghi, correct?”

“Correct.”

“But you didn’t follow through, is that right?”

“You continue to be right, yes,” she says, a heavily veiled irritation laced into her tone that others might not catch, but I do. I have to bite back a laugh.

“Can you tell me why you withdrew your petition of divorce only a month after filing?”

Bianca laces her fingers in her lap, and I find myself nodding almost imperceptibly, waiting for her to give the carefully practiced reasoning we went over during prep.

“I was very young,” she says. “Lorenzo worked many hours in that time. I barely saw him. I grew lonely. We had a whirlwind romance in Italy before we moved here, and when that changed, I did not handle it well.”

“I see,” Ezra replies thoughtfully. He glances down at his notes again. “So you just decided to work it out?”

“Yes,” she says. “I loved my husband, and we talked. We agreed to make it work.” Her eyes narrow slightly. “Not prudent on my part, it seems.”

“Mrs. Casiraghi,” Harding sighs. “If you could keep your answers relevant to the question at hand, please.”

Bianca nods stiffly.

I know what’s coming, and we’ve prepared for that too, but still I tense in my chair, watching Ezra closely as I wait for him to deliver the inevitable blow.

“So you withdrawing your petition had nothing to do with your trust fund seeing major losses only weeks after you filed for divorce?”

My eyes flick to Bianca, silently encouraging her. You’ve got this.

“It did not,” she tells him coolly. “My trust fund is handled by lawyers like yourself, Mr. Hart. I am only privy to significant changes when it is made clear that my trust is in real danger. My advisor foresaw loss, and explained to me later that it was not of concern, that he expected it to reconcile within a few short months. And it did. I was not made aware of such losses until many months after they occurred. By then, the problem had solved itself. The two events have nothing to do with one another.”

“I see,” Ezra muses calmly. Too calmly, I think. His uncanny ability to remain unperturbed might be impressive, but it can also be frustrating as hell. “Perhaps they don’t.”

I suck in a quiet breath. There’s no way it could be that easy. I expected arguments, a full-on fight, counters— anything besides a quiet acquiescence. But Ezra is turning away from the stand, still looking at his notes with a frown as if at any moment he might pass the witness.

Wow, I think with astonishment. I am so going to tease him later about being too eager to make me dinner again.

But Ezra isn’t done, as it turns out.

“Ah, wait,” he says with a puzzled expression, as if he’d almost just forgotten whatever he is about to say. “Actually, I had another question about your divorce petition.”

“Ask as many as you like,” Bianca tells him. “My answer will stay the same.”

“Of course,” he says with a sly grin that makes my stomach flutter with both arousal and anticipation at whatever bogus thing Alexander has no doubt fed him to counter with.

“I just wanted to clarify…” He takes one last look at his notes, and I realize I’m leaning in just a little.

“Did you not accuse your husband of being unfaithful then as well?”

My entire body goes rigid.

I can feel my mouth slowly parting in a shocked expression without my consent, and I stare at the side of Ezra’s face as the sensation of having the wind knocked out of me nearly bowls me over.

How did he…? I turn to look at Lorenzo, who looks at me with a smirk.

He couldn’t have—there’s no way they would have—

“Excuse me?”

Bianca’s slightly stricken tone brings me back to the moment.

Her eyes meet mine from across the room, and there is a flicker of hurt and, what’s worse, betrayal in them.

Does she think that this is my doing? She has to know that I would never tell Ezra anything said to me in confidence.

Even if we’re seeing each other. Something that she’s not even aware of.

So how does he know?

“Mrs. Casiraghi,” Ezra urges calmly. “Is it correct that you accused your husband of infidelity in 1994 before filing for divorce and then withdrew that same petition hardly a month later?”

“I—” Bianca’s eyes dart to me again, looking unsure for the first time since I’ve known her. Looking almost ashamed . “That is—it is because—he was unfaithful.”

“Objection,” Ezra replies softly. “Hearsay.”

“Sustained,” Judge Harding says.

“Mrs. Casiraghi,” Ezra grills. “Does it not seem strange to you that both times you have filed for divorce from your husband, you have claimed that he was unfaithful without having any kind of concrete evidence?”

Bianca’s cheeks are flushed now. “I—”

“Is it not a fair assessment to say that twice in the course of your marriage you have made bold accusations against my client that at their core are unfounded?”

I need to say something, I need to say anything . Why am I still frozen?

“No, that is not—”