Chapter 3 - A Marriage With Conditions
We remarried on a Thursday afternoon beneath the same oak tree where Damian’s mother had once hosted summer parties.
No society pages.
No hundred-person guest list.
No designer gown.
No archbishop.
Just an officiant, Ethan, Damian, Vanessa, Dante Russo, and me.
I wore a cream dress Vanessa ordered that morning.
Damian wore a black suit.
Ethan wore a tie badly.
Dante, Damian’s oldest friend and security chief, looked amused by the entire situation.
“Never thought I’d attend your wedding twice,” he said.
“Neither did I.”
“You look calmer this time.”
“I’m poorer.”
He laughed.
Damian heard.
He did not.
The ceremony lasted fourteen minutes.
When the officiant asked whether I took Damian as my husband, I said yes clearly.
Damian’s eyes never left mine.
His own yes sounded almost angry.
Like a vow directed at fate.
When it came time to kiss, he hesitated.
That was new.
Damian Cross did not hesitate.
I could see the question in his face.
May I?
I leaned forward.
His mouth touched mine.
Gentle.
Brief.
Careful.
The first time we married, he kissed me as if the rest of the world did not exist.
This time, he kissed me like I might disappear if he held too tightly.
Ethan applauded.
Dante rolled his eyes.
Vanessa looked away.
I noticed.
Not jealousy.
Pain.
Interesting.
At dinner, Ethan demanded cake.
There was no wedding cake.
Damian solved that problem with one phone call.
Forty minutes later, a three-tier cake arrived from a hotel downtown.
“Ridiculous,” I said.
“You wanted cake.”
“Ethan wanted cake.”
“So?”
“So normal people buy one cake.”
“I did.”
“A normal-sized cake.”
“It feeds eighteen.”
“There are five of us.”
Dante raised a hand.
“I can handle four servings.”
For the first time in years, I laughed until my stomach hurt.
Damian watched.
Later, after Ethan went to bed, I found Damian in his study.
A stack of documents sat on the desk.
He pushed them toward me.
“What?”
“Your debts.”
My expression hardened.
“What about them?”
“Paid.”
I stopped.
“No.”
“Sophie.”
“No.”
“Too late.”
Anger rose immediately.
“You had no right.”
“I’m your husband.”
“For six hours.”
“Still counts.”
“You promised not to control my finances.”
“I didn't touch your accounts.”
“You paid my debts!”
“Yes.”
“Without asking.”
He leaned back.
“They were accumulating interest.”
“That doesn't matter.”
“It matters mathematically.”
“This isn't math.”
“What is it?”
“Choice.”
The word silenced him.
I stood.
“Do you know what the hardest part of the last three years was?”
His expression darkened.
“Being broke?”
“No.”
“Being alone?”
“No.”
I looked directly at him.
“Making every decision myself.”
He waited.
“And do you know what the best part was?”
His face changed.
“The same thing.”
“Yes.”
I pushed the documents back.
“You don't get to take that away because your solution is easier.”
His jaw tightened.
“What do you want me to do? Reverse the payments?”
“Yes.”
“That’s absurd.”
“Then call me absurd.”
“Sophie.”
“Reverse them.”
He stared at me for several seconds.
Then picked up his phone.
I almost didn't believe it.
He called his financial office.
“Reverse every payment made this afternoon from my personal account toward Sophie Bennett Cross’s liabilities.”
A pause.
“Yes. Every one.”
Another pause.
“I know.”
He hung up.
“Happy?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“You’re annoyed.”
“I am.”
“Good.”
His mouth almost twitched.
I sat.
“What?”
“I forgot how stubborn you are.”
“No. You forgot what it feels like when I disagree.”
He studied me.
“Maybe.”
Then he pushed another folder toward me.
“This one isn't a payment.”
“What is it?”
“A job.”
I laughed.
“You're employing me now?”
“Interview first.”
“With you?”
“No.”
He pressed an intercom.
“Send Ms. Reed.”
My entire body instinctively tightened.
Damian noticed.
It irritated me that he noticed.
Vanessa entered.
She carried a laptop.
“You wanted me?”
Damian gestured toward the chair.
“Sophie needs work.”
I glared.
“Elegant.”
Vanessa sat.
“We have an opening in the Cross Foundation communications office.”
I blinked.
“You're interviewing me?”
“If you want it.”
I looked at Damian.
“This is charity.”
“No.”
Vanessa answered before him.
“The previous director resigned eight weeks ago.”
“What happened?”
“She moved to Seattle.”
“Salary?”
Vanessa named a number.
I nearly laughed.
It was less than I used to spend annually on clothes.
It was also four times what I had earned last year.
“What would I do?”
She explained.
Grant communications.
Event planning.
Donor relationships.
Community campaigns.
Actual work.
Work I was qualified for.
“Would I report to you?”
“To me for administration. Foundation board for strategy.”
“Would Damian be able to fire me?”
“Yes.”
I immediately shook my head.
Vanessa surprised me.
“So could the board.”
She looked directly at Damian.
“And the employment contract can require cause for termination.”
Damian’s eyebrow rose.
“Interesting.”
Vanessa didn’t look away.
“You told me to make the position legitimate.”
He leaned back.
“I did.”
I studied her.
This woman I once hated was protecting my independence from my husband.
Life had a strange sense of humor.
“I’ll interview,” I said.
Vanessa nodded.
“Tomorrow at ten.”
After she left, Damian said, “You trust her more than me already.”
“No.”
“It sounded like it.”
“I trust employment law.”
That night, I slept alone.
At two in the morning, I heard movement in the hall.
I opened the door.
Damian stood outside.
Barefoot.
Gray sweatpants.
Black T-shirt.
His hair slightly messy.
He looked less dangerous like this.
Still unfairly attractive.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You're standing outside my room.”
“I was walking.”
“To where?”
He looked down the hall.
“The kitchen.”
“The kitchen is the other direction.”
Silence.
I folded my arms.
“Did you need something?”
His eyes dropped toward my wedding ring.
“No.”
I almost closed the door.
“Sophie.”
“Yes?”
“Were you with anyone?”
The question surprised me.
“After the divorce?”
“Yes.”
I considered refusing.
Then decided honesty was easier.
“Two people.”
His face went completely still.
“Two?”
“Yes.”
“Serious?”
“No.”
“How serious?”
I laughed.
“Damian.”
“What?”
“You do realize we're divorced for those years.”
“I know.”
“Then you don't get details.”
“I’m not asking for details.”
“You just asked how serious.”
“That’s not details.”
“It is to you.”
His jaw hardened.
“Did you love either?”
“No.”
Relief flashed across his face.
I nearly smiled.
“What about you?”
“No.”
“Anyone?”
Silence.
“Damian.”
“I dated.”
“How many?”
His expression changed.
Now it was my turn.
I waited.
“Three.”
I nodded.
That was all.
He stared.
“You don't care?”
There it was again.
The same wound.
I leaned against the doorframe.
“What do you want me to do?”
“I don't know.”
“Get angry?”
“No.”
“Ask if Vanessa was one?”
His face hardened.
“She wasn't.”
“Okay.”
“That's it?”
“Yes.”
He looked almost offended.
Three years earlier, I would have interrogated him.
Now I understood something jealousy had once hidden.
People did not stay because you guarded them hard enough.
They stayed because they wanted to.
If Damian wanted Vanessa, screaming would not stop him.
If he wanted me, Vanessa’s presence would not change it.
“I’m tired,” I said.
He stepped back.
“Good night.”
“Good night.”
I closed the door.
But I did not sleep immediately.
Because the truth was complicated.
I did care.
Not enough to fight.
But enough to feel something sharp when I imagined three women sitting across from Damian at dinner.
I simply no longer believed pain gave me permission to become destructive.
That was different.
The next morning, Vanessa interviewed me.
Professionally.
No softness.
No apology.
She asked hard questions.
I answered.
After forty minutes, she closed the laptop.
“You can do the job.”
“I know.”
One eyebrow rose.
“Confidence.”
“I’ve spent three years being told what I couldn't do.”
She nodded.
“I know.”
The words stopped me.
“What does that mean?”
Vanessa looked toward the closed study door.
Then back at me.
“I know more about your last three years than you think.”
Cold moved through my chest.
“From Damian?”
“No.”
“Then how?”
She hesitated.
“Your parents.”
My blood went still.
“What about them?”
Vanessa closed the laptop again.
“This conversation should probably happen with Damian.”
“Why?”
“Because what I know affects him too.”
“Vanessa.”
She studied me.
Then sighed.
“After your divorce, someone contacted several companies where you applied for jobs.”
My pulse changed.
“What?”
“Not Damian.”
I stared.
“Then who?”
“We don't know yet.”
“You said my parents.”
“They were involved.”
The room seemed to shrink.
“Involved how?”
Vanessa lowered her voice.
“Your father had business interests dependent on Cross Industries. Your divorce humiliated him.”
I already knew that part.
“He wanted you to come back.”
“He never asked me to.”
“He didn't want to ask.”
Of course.
Pride again.
“So?”
“He made sure life outside the marriage became difficult.”
I stopped breathing.
“No.”
“Some employers received warnings that hiring you could complicate their relationships with Cross-affiliated companies.”
“From Damian?”
“No.”
“Can you prove that?”
“Yes.”
My hands became cold.
“Why didn't Damian know?”
“He does now.”
I stood abruptly.
“When?”
“Last night.”
“He knew this morning?”
“Yes.”
“And he said nothing?”
Vanessa looked almost sympathetic.
“He wanted confirmation before telling you.”
Rage returned.
Not the wild rage from three years ago.
Something colder.
I walked out.
Damian stood in the library.
He saw my face.
Then Vanessa behind me.
He knew.
“Sophie.”
“My father sabotaged my jobs?”
“We believe so.”
“For how long?”
“Possibly two years.”
“Possibly?”
“We have four confirmed calls and one email trail.”
I laughed.
A terrible sound.
“I thought I failed.”
“You didn't.”
“I thought I was incompetent.”
“You weren’t.”
“I thought every time I got rejected, it was because I didn't have enough experience.”
His face hardened.
“Your father used the Cross name without authorization.”
“My father used your name.”
“Yes.”
“And nobody noticed?”
“That’s what we’re investigating.”
“Three years, Damian.”
“I know.”
“No. You don't.”
I pointed toward the window.
“I spent nights deciding whether to buy dinner or keep enough gas in my scooter.”
His jaw clenched.
“I know.”
“No, you read numbers.”
My voice broke.
“You didn't stand in grocery aisles putting toothpaste back.”
He stepped forward.
I stepped back.
He stopped.
Good.
“I’m sorry.”
I laughed through tears.
“Everyone is sorry when the consequences belong to me.”
“I’ll deal with your father.”
“No.”
His expression changed.
“No?”
“You will do nothing.”
“Sophie—”
“Nothing without me.”
He stared.
“My family.”
“Yes.”
“My consequences.”
“Yes.”
“My decision.”
Silence.
Then he nodded.
“Fine.”
I wiped my face.
Vanessa remained near the doorway.
A question had been burning since yesterday.
I turned toward her.
“Why are you helping me?”
Her expression changed.
“Because I owe you something.”
“What?”
She looked at Damian.
He became very still.
Then Vanessa looked back at me.
“The photograph.”
Every sound in the room seemed to disappear.
“What about it?”
Vanessa inhaled.
“The picture that ended your marriage.”
My hands tightened.
“What about it?”
Her next words reopened three years of my life.
“It was fake.”
I stared.
“I know Damian said that.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“You don't understand.”
May you like
Vanessa’s face went pale.
“We know who made it.”
