Page 37 of Perfect Satisfaction

I shudder at the possibility of seeing him on the streets of New York but dredge up a wan smile.

“You won’t be able to avoid this conversation forever,” she chides.

“Who said I’m avoiding it?” I’m completely avoiding it at least with Angie. “With JB, it’s practically part of our schedule.” I pantomime him. “Review the current status of our projects. What about new bids? Have you contacted the solicitors to berate them? Why the bloody hell can’t they persuade your husband to move on the divorce?”

“Sula,” she says as her voice softens.

To alleviate her concern, I give her the details she needs. “Angie, JB hounds me daily about this. I can’t listen to another word about giving Arek half of what I have—which is no more than what my mother left to me.” Arek hasn’t budged an iota on the divorce for reasons my lawyers won’t share.

I can’t go back.

I can’t move forward.

I’m forever in Purgatory paying for a love that isn’t returned.

She frowns. “He wants your money?”

I laugh bitterly. “It didn’t take him long to put two and two together. He figured out thathisUrsula Moore is the daughter of West Moore. Like most of the world, he assumes I’m filthy rich because I’m daddy’s little girl.”

“I wish I could erase what happened to you.”

I flap my injured hand. “Nothing happened to me but poor judgment.”

“Sula, are you still wearing his ring?” Angie questions quietly.

My finger immediately brushes the side of my nose where my new jewel rests. “You’re one of three people in the world who know what that meant, Angie. For all the rest of the world noticed, it could be something I did during a rebellious period or to be fashionable.”

“Depending on where you are in worldwide history, I guess that is an explanation for what it symbolizes.”

“Go with that theory,” I encourage.

“Except we know better, don’t we?” she says knowingly.

“Why couldn’t I have found a family recipe for Tandoori chicken in my great-grandmother’s journal? Only I would find the women in my family have their noses pierced when they find their souls enraptured.”

“Why would you want the chicken?”

“Then I’d be dead from my own cooking and none of this would matter.”

Our shared laughter is sad. I check my finger to make certain the bleeding has slowed enough that I don’t need to go to A&E. Finding it has, I reach for a bandage to wrap it. “Remember, when you first started falling for Ward, how cantankerous you were every time you saw him in the tabloids with a new date?”

Angie growls, “Do I ever.”

“Now imagine being married to him. You know what it’s like to hold him, kiss him, love him, pleasure him, then picture another woman doing that to the man you vowed to love forever. Damn it all, Angie, I meant those vows.” I can no longer see her face through the cloud of tears.

“Then work things out.”

“With the man who sold you out, not once but twice? No, thank you. JB’s right. Let the solicitors deal with it.”

“Other than money, is there a reason behind his obstinance?”

“Because, like every gossip rag in the world, he’s claiming abandonment. He told his lawyer I’m banging Joshua Basset.” At Angie’s gasp, I drawl, “Lovely of my father to add JB changing his name as a decree in his will, right? JB was content to endure being known as Joshua Basset Moore. But to be able to inherit the majority of shares of MSW—”

“I always thought he changed his name because of the disdain he held for your father, like Brendan did.”

“Nope. He did it because it was a mandate. Since his work was predominantly behind the scenes, few may even recall that his last name was ‘Moore.’ Everyone believes we’re together. As if.”

“Much like people don’t know it’s Brendan’s.”