Page 21 of Resisting the Fall

“Apparently. That and weekly in-person shared experiences.”

“And you’re certain you don’t want to speak with my attorney?”

I was already indebted enough to Cassandra; I didn’t need her picking up the tab for some ritzy New York lawyer. Especially when the Googling I’d done yesterday after the hearing seemed to validate Judge Rost’s ability to make these sorts of provisions as long as we’d agreed to them. Even haphazardly. Besides, we’d be moving the case to New York anyway, so even if reopening the case proved fruitless, we could easily handle filing an uncontested divorce ourselves. We’d done it before, and though the process was annoying and long, it was relatively straightforward and like a hundredth of the cost. I would just make sure I submitted the final judgment to the clerk for recording this time. “I’m sure. But thank you.”

She gave a nod toward my phone that sat on the table like a physical reminder of what needed to be done. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. I’m headed to brunch at The Carlyle, but I should be home by two.”

“Oh, fun! Enjoy yourself.”

It took another five minutes after Cassandra left before I convinced myself to call Ben. The phone rang several times, then went to voicemail. My shoulders relaxed, and I logged the call on a note on my phone as unanswered. If there was going to be a second hearing, there was no way I’d get another admonishment from Judge Rost for noncompliance or risk doing something that would prevent her from signing those divorce papers.

My phone rang.

Unknown Number.

AKA: Ben.

I drew in a slow breath to quiet my nerves. It was only when I pressed accept that I registered it was a video call.

A grin that I wanted to slap right off his attractive face filled my screen. “Hey there, Maven. I wasn’t expecting a breakfast call.”

“If we have to share a meal, I figured the shortest one was best.” I tried for a light smile. I had some begging to do, and I didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot.

“Fair.” Ben exited his workshop, dampening the hum of a table saw in the background. “Though I’m not sure this should count since you didn’t give me a heads up and I already ate.”

I took a bite of my yogurt. “I’m eating, so it counts.”

“Glad to know that’s how it works.” Ben entered what I assumed to be Dust & Timber’s storefront, fluorescent lights passing overhead. “So what happened with the whole passport situation?”

At the reminder, I blew out a breath. “The State Department denied my expedited application, citing the discrepancies in my identification documents and how long I’ve continued to use my maiden name.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It is what it is,” I said, like it hadn’t gutted me to miss the opportunity. It was easier to pretend that I wasn’t supposed to be in Prague, recording a film score for a major motion picture. Or spending my free time going to the Estates Theater—the only theater still in existence where Mozart had once performed—and attending concerts at Lobkowicz Palace and the Mirror Chapel. “And now we can focus on getting our divorce finalized. Which is what I want to talk to you about.” I drew in a fortifying breath. “Ben, I understand your feelings about New York City, but I was reading online, and I can nearly guarantee you won’t have to step foot in New York if we dismiss the Vermont case and refile here. Plus, if we can manage to get it reopened, it would be a lot less paperwork.”

“Filing in New York didn’t go so well for us last time.” Ben flipped on a light, then dropped into an office chair and placed the phone in front of him. “Besides, I thought you were eager to get this whole thing over with?”

“Not as eager as I am to avoid a reconciliation effort.”

His head quirked to the side, and that darn smile of his broke free. “And why’s that? Are you scared you might fall back in love with me?”

“Not even a little,” I said, determined to make it true. “I just don’t want to waste another month of my life.”

“Ouch.” Ben leaned back in his chair, lifting his arms behind his head. “You still know how to pack a punch.”

I huffed out a breath. “Can we just transfer the case to New York? Please?”

He considered me, then shook his head. “Not going to happen.”

“Ben!”

He placed his elbows on the desk and leaned forward. “Instead of wasting time arguing about this, why don’t we argue about the specifics of how we’re going to complete Judge Rost’s court order? I was thinking, for the weekly in-person dates, we could meet halfway. Possibly in Saratoga Springs or Albany. That way, no one in Autumn Ridge, outside of our families, will have to know about our current situation.”

So he didn’t want anyone to know? Point noted. “Why are you doing this?”

He shrugged. “It’s the quickest route to a divorce.”

“It’s also the most unpleasant one.”