“You know I’m happy to help with home improvements, but gardening isn’t really my area.”
Being the overlooked, second-born Abbott son had given Ben the breathing room to develop practical skills while attending Harvard Law School like his brother and father. On the day he met Rachel, Ben was covered in grime and sawdust from building cabinets in a house he’d purchased to flip. She later learned he had briefly flirted with starting a contracting company that specialized in restoring Victorian homes. Matt told her the story as a joke because Abbott men didn’t work with their hands. Their calluses were from gripping mountain bike handles or holding pens with an awkward grip. Even though Ben had ultimately caved to his family’s expectations, his ability to see the value in creating something beautiful had always made him different in her eyes. He was her Abbott ally—the person who sent her Gordon Parks postcards each year for her birthday because he spoke a discerning creative language the rest of his family didn’t understand.
“That message wasn’t about flowers.” She hesitated. “Ben, if I speak to you as an attorney, this conversation is privileged, isn’t it?”
A long stretch of silence followed her question. “Yes, it is. Are you in trouble?”
“Your brother is leaving me for another woman.”
Another pause. “Shit.”
It was only the second time she’d heard Ben swear. The first was during a Christmas dinner, one of the obligatory Abbott family gatherings. Matt announced he was writing a memoir and Ben had declared it “a fucking joke.”
“I’m so sorry, Rachel. My brother’s a jerk.”
“Don’t be. I just need to talk through some next steps.”
“The prenuptial agreement.”
He was too polite to say it, but she heard the I told you so. Thirteen years ago, Ben had told her not to sign the prenup without speaking to an attorney, but Rachel couldn’t imagine taking money she hadn’t earned. She’d thought signing it made her a better person. At least now she could tell him she hadn’t rolled over and played dead last night when Matt threw the prenup in her face. “He agreed to give me money and the house.”
“Agreed? He just offered that to you?”
She was afraid of this. An agreement made during a drunken argument probably wouldn’t hold up in court. “Not exactly. I blackmailed him. A little.”
“Jesus, Rachel. Why would you do that?”
“Because I don’t have a choice.” She kicked the comforter away from her overheated skin. The conversation had her covered in sweat. “It’s my house. I need money to keep the lights on long enough to figure out my next move.” Saying it out loud made her chest hurt. She shouldn’t have to explain herself to a man like Ben who would never understand what it was like to be financially vulnerable. He’d tell her to apply for a job like she didn’t have a decade-long gap in her anemic work history.
The first time she’d explained to Ben how she ended up in Oasis Springs, she could tell he had a hard time believing her story. He couldn’t reconcile the Rachel he knew—an art history major and devoted mother who had finally convinced Matt to take the Metro into the city—with a woman who had experienced homelessness. Despite his relative sophistication in the Abbott household, he wasn’t immune to the privilege that kept him isolated from the rest of the world. Ben liked to believe that bad things only happened to bad people because it gave him a sense of control. But Rachel had learned years ago that control was an illusion. Tragedy was indiscriminate and ruthlessly patient, waiting until you let your guard down to strike. Before she met Matt, it had stolen her life. She refused to let it happen again.
Ben shifted back into attorney mode. “Okay. Well, you’ll want to get the clock moving on the separation waiting period.”
“Is there any way to file that without people knowing?”
“You mean a legal separation? Those don’t exist in Virginia. You need to live separately for a certain amount of time. With a no fault, that’s one year.”
“A year?” She ran a hand over her face. “Is there any way to speed up the clock?”
“You could file for cause.” Ben paused. “Cheating is cause.”
It would feel good to reveal Matt’s affair. No, it would feel great. Better than sex. But she would also lose her leverage. After last night, Matt would happily kick her out of the house if he thought she was no longer useful. And she’d be back to where she started, struggling to pay rent and bills while people gossiped behind her back.
Ben gave her a number for an attorney and extracted a promise to keep him updated before they disconnected. Her phone was dying, so she rifled through her dresser drawers, searching for a charger. Her gaze caught on a Bic lighter and a half-empty pack of cigarettes shoved to the back. The contractors they hired to update the master bathroom last spring had left them on the new vanity, enraging Matt. She’d taken the cigarettes and hidden them in her nightstand.
Rachel lit up and inhaled, remembering Nathan’s slow grin as he warned her, “Those are bad for you.” She imagined him plucking it from her fingers, only to replace it with something worse but better. Something potent and destructively sweet.
She wandered over to Matt’s closet. The dark blue Hugo Boss was his lucky suit. He had worn it the night he was elected mayor. She aimed for that one first, exhaling smoke on the sleeve and lapels as she worked her way along his closet.
Rachel straightened and admired her handiwork. Then she yelped, spun around, and pointed the lighter like a weapon against a dark-clad figure in her doorway. But the intruder was just their housekeeper, Lenora, eyeing Rachel with a laundry basket balanced against her hip.
Rachel never realized how devoted domestic employees could be until she was exposed to the people who kept the Abbott household running. Matt’s mother, Matilda, always claimed that they were part of the family. As if the monogrammed rubber gloves handed out at Christmas were a sign of love, and not because she refused to let them use anything but industrial-strength cleaner on her toilets.
Lenora had been picking up after Matt since he was in diapers. He insisted on keeping her around, even though watching Rachel cook his meals and pick up his dry cleaning seemed to cause the woman physical pain. At the moment, she looked ready to tackle Rachel to the ground and smuggle Matt’s suits away for safekeeping.
“What are you doing?” Lenora gaped like she’d stumbled into a crime scene.
Rachel knelt to attack his favorite shoes. The suede loafers were custom, handcrafted by little old European ladies, according to her mother-in-law. Rachel pressed the cigarette tip against one toe and burned a small hole all the way through.