Page 32 of Rescued By Midnight

Five months. And that’s only when she got pregnant. When did they start having sex?

I lock down my anger and take a shaky sip of my iced latte. “You gave up on me that fast?”

For the first time, she looks impatient. “It wasn’t about you, Alice. Not everything is. This was about me, and Brayden. Which is what I want to discuss with you.”

I’m not sure how to respond. I never thought everything was about me, did I? Maybe when I was a teenager. I remember my mom once complaining, “It’s Alice’s world, I guess, and we’re all just living in it.” The comment had hurt at the time, but she was actually right—I was a self-absorbed teenager. I thought I grew out of it.

“Anyway.” Jericha sips her tea and gives me a gentle smile. “If you convince him to divorce, then he and I can be together.”

I couldn’t have heard her correctly. “What?”

She slows down, enunciating every word like I’m a child. “If you talk him into divorcing you, the Elders will approve it. He has to be the one to request it.”

Divorce is rare in Seven Blessed Days, and it’s only granted if the husband makes the request. The wife has no rights.

I think back to the texts he’s been sending me. “He doesn’t want a divorce, though.”

“He actually does.” Her lips twist in regret. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, but he doesn’t want to hurt your feelings, and we need to get the process underway if he’s going to be married to me by the time our baby is born.”

She’s lying. She’s manipulating me. She’s flaunting her pregnancy and how the father is my husband, and she’s using me to get her way. A slow-simmering indignation builds in my chest. I take another sip of my latte, hoping to quench it, but it does no good.

“He wants to divorce me?” I hold up my phone, showing her the dozens of texts Brayden has sent over the past few days. “That’s not what he’s telling me. He’s saying he wants to reconcile.”

“That’s bullshit,” she hisses.

“So which of you is lying?” I show her the photo he sent of the two of us in Mirarosa and quote, “‘Alice, we should be holding fast and holding firm with love and respect. I want to fix this.’”

“You’re making this up.” She folds her arms across her chest and her green eyes flash at me.

“I’m not.” The petty part of me resurfaces—the petty part that refused Jericha’s tea and got a latte instead. Maybe I’m not sure about Brayden anymore, but I’ll be damned if I roll over and let Jericha manipulate me like this. I don’t want to be the pushover I used to be. “He wants a chance, and I have to give it to him.”

“Screw you, Alice.” Jericha raises her voice. “You don’t care about me, you don’t care about my baby!”

“What are you talking about?” I whisper, trying to get her to quiet down. The last thing I want to do is cause a scene.

Jericha dissolves into a hysterical, crying mess. “My baby,” she sobs. “My baby! You hate him!”

Several people sitting nearby turn to stare. They give me dirty looks.

This is a nightmare. I’ve been taught to behave impeccably. To remain unobtrusive, don’t ask for attention, exist to make things easier for everyone else around me. That’s not…this.

An old man squints at me, expression full of disgust, as I get up and hurry out of the coffee shop. So much for that scene I didn’t want to cause.

When I’m outside, I can still hear Jericha crying. I risk a glance over my shoulder and see several women crowded around her, fussing over her and handing her tissues to wipe her tears.

A little girl, who can’t be more than eight, sees me looking at them. She flips me off.

I hurry back to Landon and Cody’s building. I’m glad I never liked San Estebean all that much, because now I can never go back.

LANDON - NOW

Cody and I came home earlier from work than we usually do. I don’t know his reasoning, but mine is that I want to see Alice.

Just my luck, she isn’t here. A note on the counter informs us that she went out for coffee with an old friend. I shouldn’t be worried, but she hasn’t mentioned friends lately. I want her to have friends, but who is this person showing up out of nowhere when she’s at her most vulnerable?

I start chopping vegetables and chicken to fry up for dinner, brooding.

“What’s your problem?” Cody leans against the doorframe.