Fool Me Once (First Wives #1)

“This is my son’s house.”

Trina lifted her chin. “A house you’ve never stepped foot in.”

Ruslan glared.

“My husband was quiet about many things, but his distaste for you was something we spoke of often.”

“My son was destroyed by the women in his life.”

Lori sensed the tension rising again and took the remaining steps to Trina’s side.

“You’ve been asked to leave, Mr. Petrov. I suggest you do before we need to call the authorities to remove you.”

His round face grew red with anger.

He spewed more angry Russian words before he turned and stormed out the door.

A sigh of relief went through the houseguests.

Sam flanked Trina as the widow’s face turned white. “I’m going to call Neil. We need security.” Neil was the head of Sam’s personal security team, and if anyone could trump Ruslan in terms of size, it was him.

Lori nodded and looked around the room as Sam walked away. Studying Trina’s file on the airplane was coming in handy. “Mrs. Mendez?”

The sixtysomething woman focused on Lori. “Do I know you?”

Lori shook her head. “No. Why don’t you help your daughter get ready for the day?” Lori glanced at the wide-eyed housekeeper. “Cindy, right?”

The woman nodded.

“We need coffee. I need to know how many rooms are available for guests.” There was a funeral to plan, and someone needed to take control of the details.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Lori turned to Trina, placed a palm to her face, and offered a calm smile. “Go shower. I’ll take care of everything.”

The adrenaline of Ruslan’s outrage passed through everyone like an angry ocean hitting the shore, and now Trina stood in silence, like a zombie, unsure of what direction to go. “Okay . . . okay.”

Flanked by her parents, Trina mounted the stairs.

Less than a week later, Fedor Petrov was laid to rest with over four hundred attending guests.

Two days after that, Alice Petrov took her last breath.





Chapter Three




There were reasons why Lori’s caseload was lighter than that of the average divorce attorney to the rich and famous. She spent very little time in front of judges hashing anything out. Her practice was built on prenuptial agreements and premeditated divorces. These took up over half of her calendar and added to her retirement plan faster than any divorce lawyer could have dreamed.

When cases like Trina Mendez-Petrov’s took a significant turn for the worse, she had ample time to deal with them and enough professional clout to obtain the required court delays with her current inbox of clients.

Lori stood poised, with massive sunglasses covering her eyes, a wide-brimmed hat covering her head, and her chin held high in the lobby of the Mandarin Oriental Hotel in Barcelona. The hotel dripped opulence and sophistication. It screamed money, and lots of it. Attendants stood everywhere, their uniforms crisp, their smiles painted on. Fresh flower arrangements featured exotic plants Lori couldn’t name. Looking past the sleek lines and gold trim of the decor, she watched the glass doors leading outside as one of many limousines stopped in the valet turnaround.

Wearing a white jumpsuit few women could pull off, Shannon Redding, the ex-wife of Paul Wentworth, the current governor of the state of California, climbed out of the back of the limo and donned sunglasses similar to Lori’s. She said something to one of the bellmen, who placed a soft black bag onto a cart, and preceded her luggage into the lobby.

They hugged. “Hello, Shannon.”

“It’s good to see you.”

Lori tilted her sunglasses. “I’m glad you could make it.”

“Two years is long enough to sulk.” Shannon said the right thing, but Lori could see a shadow still lurking in the woman’s smile.

Someone behind Shannon called out, “Lori?”

Lori placed a hand on Shannon’s arm and moved past her. “You’re early.”

Avery wore her hair in a ponytail and smiled like she’d enjoyed her in-flight drinks. “My mother was driving me crazy, so I caught an earlier flight.”

Lori turned toward Shannon and made the introductions.

“Shannon, this is Avery.”

Shannon’s poised and practiced smile met Avery’s grin. The two couldn’t be more different and still have so much in common.

The women knew they were both Alliance brides, but the details would only be spoken of in private.

“Is our fourth party here?” Shannon asked as they walked toward the elevators.

“She is.”

They kept the small talk to conversation about their flights and lack of sleep until they entered the double doors of the penthouse suite.

Lori tipped the bellmen and closed the door behind them.

She removed her sunglasses and hat, tossing them on the foyer table.

Avery pointed a finger in Shannon’s direction. “You’re the governor’s wife.”

Shannon placed her purse on the table and sat. “Ex-wife, but yes. Paul Wentworth was my husband.”

Avery’s jaw dropped. “An Alliance husband?”

“Guilty. And who was your husband?”

“Bernie Fields.”

Shannon looked up as if searching her memory for some recollection. “Hedge funds?”

Avery smiled. “Not to mention his trust fund. But yes, that’s Bernie.”

Shannon smiled. “I can’t picture you with him.”

“He wanted tall and blonde.”

“And beautiful, I assume.”

Avery’s grin grew wider. “Thank you.”

“I thought I heard voices.”

Lori turned as Trina walked from one of the bedrooms.

Shannon sucked in air and Avery blew out a breath. “Katrina Petrov?”

“Call me Trina,” she corrected Avery.

Shannon moved her stare to Lori. “When you said you had a client that could use some friends in the know, you weren’t kidding.”

Trina’s disaster of a life had been front-page news in as many as a dozen countries.

Avery stood and crossed the living room space to the open kitchen. “I think we’re going to need liquor.”

Shannon extended her hand to Trina. “Shannon Redding.”

“Trina Petrov.”

“You’re keeping his name?”

“For now.”

Trina looked the grieving widow. Sullen eyes, the spark all but gone. At first the media had painted her as a young bride in the thick of tragedy. Then, somewhere right after Fedor’s funeral and before Alice’s, fingers started pointing, and Trina was the center of gossip. She’d come from nowhere to marry a rich man, into an oil-rich family, and suddenly all the people holding the money were dead. Never mind Alice’s condition wasn’t new or that Fedor took his own life . . . Trina found blame placed on her shoulders, just as she’d predicted.

“I’m so sorry,” Shannon said.

Avery popped the cork from a bottle of red. “I’m Avery Grant. I didn’t take Bernie’s name from the get-go.”

Lori helped Avery with the glasses and took a seat beside Shannon. “I need to play lawyer for just a few minutes, then I promise to play something else for the rest of the week.”

Avery nudged her, grinning.