A faint, involuntary flicker of emotion crossed Niamh’s heart.
She’d made Jonathan pies countless times–savory and sweet, pork with cabbage, pork with celery, pork with mushrooms, beef and onion, lamb and zucchini, you name it.
Jonathan never once said they tasted bad.
But he never said they were good, either.
Three years of marriage, and to this day, Niamh still had no idea what kind of filling Jonathan liked best.
And now, at the edge of divorce, he was suddenly saying he craved her pies. Somehow, Niamh found it almost laughable.
“Soon you’ll have Marina’s pies to look forward to. I’m sure hers will taste better than mine,” she said coolly.
She heard Jonathan sigh beside her.
She didn’t know what that sigh meant.
Disappointment, maybe.
Disappointed in her.
Niamh shrugged.
Whatever Jonathan was feeling, it had nothing to do with her anymore.
“Terence resigned.”
Jonathan’s words came out of nowhere.
It took Niamh a moment to realize he was talking about Terence–Barrister Lockwood, the senior partner at Thomas Legal Group.
She turned to look at Jonathan, but he kept his eyes ahead.
“So I’ve hired a new attorney. The divorce papers… you’ll have them after you get back from Luminous Divas Fashion Week.”
His tone was even, his face unreadable, and Niamh couldn’t guess what was going on in his mind.
The process was dragging on longer than she’d expected, but at least she finally
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had a date.
Luminous Divas Fashion Week…
She still hadn’t settled on a new theme for her collection.
Jonathan glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “What’s on your mind?”
“Nothing.”
She shook her head.
He didn’t press.
They’d only just stepped outside the lounge building when Niamh’s phone rang.
The number was unfamiliar, but there was no spam warning.
“Hello?” she answered.
“I’m at the entrance to the retirement home–they won’t let me in.”
The opening line caught her completely off guard.
“Sorry, who is this?”
“You can’t tell by my voice?”
The flippant tone put Niamh on edge.
“If you don’t tell me, I’m hanging up.”
She was about to end the call when the man chuckled. “You threw me over your shoulder last time, and now you’ve forgotten me already? You’re ruthless!”
Recognition dawned. Michael.
As she and Jonathan drew closer to the gates, Michael’s tall figure became clearer beyond the wrought–iron arch.
“Hey,” he called, lowering his phone and grinning at her through the ornate gate.
He didn’t even acknowledge Jonathan.
Jonathan turned to Niamh, voice calm but suddenly icy. “Did you arrange to meet
him?”
“No,” Niamh replied, shaking her head.
She was just as puzzled as Jonathan–how had Michael found her here?
But then, Michael came from money himself. It wasn’t surprising he had his ways.
She just couldn’t figure out why he wanted to see her. Was he still nursing a grudge after she’d flipped him flat on his back last time?
The gate opened, and Niamh and Jonathan stepped out to face Michael.
Michael adjusted his gold–rimmed glasses and finally glanced at Jonathan.
“Mind if I borrow your wife for a moment?”
Michael, with his refined manners and scholarly looks, always had a way of saying things that begged to be misunderstood.
“Michael. Can you not?” Niamh snapped, her brows arching.
Michael just squinted at her, a slow, teasing smile spreading across his face, as if he found her irritation oddly delightful.
