Lizzie rolled out of sight and went flush against the wall. Closing her eyes, she hated how relieved she felt, she really did. But it wasn’t like she could pretend that not being a fool for a second time wasn’t a good thing.
“This is a divorce petition!” Chantal’s voice grew sharp. “Why are you doing this!”
“Ma’am, my job is to serve the papers. Now that you’ve accepted them—”
“I do not accept them!” There was a fluttering sound as if she might have actually thrown them at the man. “You take them back—”
“Ma’am,” the deputy barked. “I’m going to advise you to pick those papers off the floor—or don’t. But any more of that and I’ll drag you down to the courthouse strapped to the hood of my patrol vehicle just for getting aggressive with an officer of the peace. Are we clear. Ma’am.”
Cue the waterworks.
Between sniffles and what had to be a heaving bosom, Chantal backpedaled at a dead run. “My husband loves me. He doesn’t mean this. He’s—”
“Ma’am, that is none of my business and none of my concern. Good day.”
Heavy footsteps sounded out and drifted away.
“Goddamn it, Lane,” the woman hissed with perfect diction.
Guess the acting happened only when there was an audience.
Without warning, the clip-clip-clip of those kitten heels across the floor headed in Lizzie’s direction. Crap, there was no time to get out of the—
Chantal rounded the corner and jumped back when she saw Lizzie.
Even though the woman had turned on the waterworks for that deputy, her eyes were clear and free of tears, her makeup not marred in the slightest.
Instant. Rage.
“What are you doing!” Chantal hollered, her body quivering. “Eavesdropping!”
Lizzie held out the scarf. “I was bringing this to you—”
Chantal snatched the wrap. “Get out of here. Get out! Get out!”
And you do not have to ask twice, Lizzie thought as she wheeled away and gunned for the great outdoors.
As she cut through the tent and weeded around the tables and chairs, she took out her phone and texted Lane a cheerful, No-big-deal, I’m-heading-home-after-a-long-day message.
God knew that man was going to have a lot on his hands as soon as Chantal found him.
The good news, at least for Lizzie?
No anniversary party to plan.
And Lane had been true to his word.
It was hard to stop a small smile from surfacing on her face. And when it refused to go away, she let the thing stay where it was.
Lane’s phone let out an electronic bing! just as Chantal marched by the parlor, screaming his name as she headed for the grand staircase. He did nothing to tip off his whereabouts, just let her go upstairs to cause whatever scene was going to roll out in front of the closed door of his empty bedroom.
Funny, just a few hours before, the fact that she was on the warpath would have been an issue he’d have dealt with. Now? It was down oh, so low on his list of priorities.
“I need to go see Edward,” Lane said without bothering to check who had texted him.
Gin shook her head. “I wouldn’t. He’s not well, and the news you will share can only make things worse.”
She had a point. Edward hated their father already. The idea the man had stolen funds?
Gin got to her feet and went over to the bar for a refresh. “Is tomorrow still going forward?”
“The brunch?” He shrugged. “I don’t know how to stop it. Besides, it’s mostly been paid for already. The food, the liquor, the rentals.”
He was ashamed of the other reason to keep the event on track: The idea that the world might know even a hint of the problems his family was potentially facing was unacceptable to him.
The sound of someone coming down the carpeted stairs at an absolute tear made his sister cock an eyebrow. “Looks like you’re about to have a marital moment.”
“Only if she finds me—”
Chantal appeared in the parlor’s doorway, her normally pale and placid face ruddy as a tar layer’s at a BBQ.
“How dare you,” his wife demanded.
“Guess you’re packing your bags, darling,” Gin said with a Christmas-morning smile. “Shall I call for the butler? I think we can grant you that last courtesy. Consider it your going-away gift.”
“I am not leaving this house.” Chantal ignored Gin. “Do you understand me, Lane.”
He circled the ice in his glass with his forefinger. “Gin, will you give us a little privacy?”
With an obliging nod, his sister headed for the archway, and as she went by Chantal, she paused and glanced back at him. “Make sure the butler checks her suitcases for jewelry.”
“You are such a bitch,” Chantal hissed.
“Yes, I am.” Gin shrugged as if the woman was barely worth the breath to speak. “And I also have a right to the Bradford name and legacy. You do not. Bye, now.”
As Gin threw out a toodle-oo wave, Lane stepped up and moved his body between the two of them so they could avoid an Alexis/Krystle lily pond moment. Then he went over and slid the panels shut, even though he didn’t want to be alone with his wife.