‘Fine.’ The word was delivered through clenched teeth. ‘There is something else. Did you put him up to the ridiculous conditions of his will?’
Anger whipped through her, and she barely noticed her hand tighten on the dustpan.
‘No, Jordan, I didn’t. I don’t want to own a house with you, and I don’t want to plan an event with you.’
I just want to move on with my life.
He didn’t say anything immediately. ‘I don’t want that either.’
‘But we’ll have to.’
‘Because you want your half of the house, the vineyard?’
‘Because if we don’t you’ll lose your half of both, too.’
He didn’t deny her words, though she knew by the way his face tightened that he wanted to. It wasn’t so much at the truth of what she said, but at the fact that it was the truth. How could Jordan explain the fact that his father had left his house—and his share of the vineyard—to both his son and ex-daughter-in-law? For someone who valued logic as much as Jordan did, having no explanation for something this important must be eating at him.
‘I’m going to contest the will.’
The part of herself that Mila had felt softening immediately iced.
‘Based on what?’
‘On anything I can find. I won’t just accept this.’
And yet you just accepted it when I told you to give me space.
‘And if I don’t succeed in contesting the will...will you...will you sell your shares to me without any of the conditions?’
Pain sat on her chest at the question—the one she knew he’d wanted to ask since he had arrived—and forced words from her lips. ‘Yes, Jordan. If that’s possible, and if that’s what you want, I’ll do it.’
Unspoken words filled the air—memories of when he had said much the same thing to her at the end of their marriage—and she closed her eyes against them. When she was sure her emotions were in check—when she was sure that she was strong enough to look at him—she did.
And realised how different he was from the man she’d known...and loved.
She hadn’t noticed any of it when she’d seen him four months ago at his father’s funeral. He hadn’t looked at her then, she thought, too consumed by the grief of losing his only surviving parent—the man who had raised him—despite their complicated relationship. Or maybe because of it. She wasn’t even sure he knew she had only gone to the church and graveyard, not being able to bear spending time socialising after the death of the only man she’d ever thought of as a father.
After losing the last of the family she had.
Suddenly she felt incredibly weary.
‘I think it’s best if I go to bed now,’ she said, as the shock of seeing him finally caught up with her.
‘Wait,’ he said, and took her arm before she could walk out of the room.
She looked down at his hand as heat seared through her body at his touch, and quickly moved away. She didn’t want to think about the physical effect he had on her. The emotional one was already too much.
He cleared his throat. ‘I’ve arranged for a meeting with Mark Garrett in the morning. To see if I have grounds to contest. Since you’re willing to sell, I was hoping you would come with me.’
Her eyebrows rose. ‘You’ve made an appointment with your family lawyer? The executor of your father’s will?’ When he nodded, she said, ‘And you’re only telling me this now? When it’s beneficial to you?’
He looked at her, those golden eyes carefully blank of emotion. ‘I didn’t think you needed to be there.’
‘Because my inheritance doesn’t concern me, right? No, it’s fine. I get it.’ She shook her head when he opened his mouth to respond. ‘You’ve been making decisions for the both of us since we got married. Why stop now that we’re divorced?’
She didn’t wait for a response, but walked past him, hating the way her body longed to be held in his arms.
Hating the way her life was once again in turmoil because of Jordan Thomas.
* * *
Mila got up at five in the morning, her muscles hard with tension after a restless night. She got dressed and did the thing that always helped to keep her mind busy—she cooked. First she made a batch of scones and then muffins and pancakes. When that was done she scrambled eggs, made bacon and toast, and eventually, as the sun peeked through the kitchen windows, put on the kettle for coffee.
‘What’s all this?’
The deep voice startled her, even though she knew he was there. She supposed she had already grown so used to being alone in the months since Greg had been gone—her heart ached at the reminder—that anyone’s presence, let alone that of the man who unsettled her most in the world, would have frightened her in the quiet of the morning.
‘Food,’ she said, and wiped her hands on her apron. She stilled, thinking that it made her look nervous. ‘I’m going to take it down to Frank and Martha’s.’
Frank was the kind-hearted man who’d helped manage the vineyard after Greg had taken ill and Jordan had moved away. She had a soft spot for him and, since cooking was something she did to keep herself calm, often took food to Frank and his wife, Martha’s house on the Thomas property to share with the workers at the vineyard during the day.
Though now Mila supposed she should offer some to Jordan. Except that would make it seem as if she had got up that morning specifically to cook for him. Just as she had when they were married. So she wouldn’t offer him breakfast, but would wait until later to pack up the food and let him get breakfast for himself.
Satisfied with the decision, she asked, ‘What time is the appointment?’
To avoid his gaze, she turned to make herself coffee. But she stopped when she realised she was about to take out two mugs, her mind already making his as he liked it. So she turned back to him and folded her arms, ignoring the way the sight of his hair, wet from a shower, made her body prickle.
‘Eight thirty.’
‘In less than an hour,’ she confirmed, proud of the fact that her voice wasn’t as shaky as she felt. ‘I’ll go and get ready.’
She nearly ran out of the kitchen, but acting normally was eating at her strength. The last time she had been in that kitchen with Jordan she had been pregnant and happy, with the only true family she’d known—her husband and her father-in-law—around her.
The loss of it all was a physical pain.
She bided her time so that she didn’t have to have breakfast with him, only coming out when they had to leave. Her eyebrows barely lifted at his choice of transportation—a sleek blue car she knew was a recent and expensive model—but her heart thawed when he opened the door for her.
The trip was silent and tense, but she consoled herself by repeating that it would be over soon. If she signed her share of the vineyard, of the house, over to Jordan she would be able to move out and move on. It would mark the end of the worst and best years of her life and, though her heart was nostalgic for the best, the worst was enough that if she could, she would sign the papers right there in the car.
When Jordan gave his name to the receptionist at the lawyer’s, they were shown into an office where Mila spent another ten minutes of tension with Jordan while waiting for the lawyer to come.
‘Good morning, Jordan... Mila.’
Mark spoke softly to her and she gave him a small smile. She had only met him twice—once when she’d signed a prenuptial contract, and again after Greg’s death when Mark had come to give his condolences and to drop off her copy of the will. Both times he had been kind, and she’d appreciated that.
Jordan barely waited until Mark was seated before he asked, ‘What was going on in my father’s head when he made this will, Mark?’
Mark gave him a wry smile. ‘I think you would be a better judge of that than me.’
‘Well, you’ve both read Greg’s will by now. It’s actually quite simple in its conditions—which I know you both must find hard to believe, considering what it’s asking of you. You already own half of the Thomas Vineyard, Jordan, having inherited your mother’s share of the property when you were twenty-one. Greg’s half has been left, as he states in his will, to his son and his daughter-in-law, on the condition that you both work together to plan an...’
Mark paused and took a closer look at the will.
‘An Under the Stars event. Instructions have been left regarding the nature of the event—which, again, both of you will have read—and this event has to take place no later than two months after the last of you received a copy of the will.’
‘I received mine two weeks ago,’ Jordan interrupted, looking at Mila for confirmation of her date.
‘I probably got mine a week before that,’ she said, and wished her heart wouldn’t beat quite as hard.
‘Which would mean that we have just over a month to plan this. If we do,’ Jordan said, his voice masking all emotion.
‘Honestly, Jordan. I don’t see you having a choice if you want to keep the vineyard solely in your family. If you don’t plan the event, your father’s share of the vineyard will be auctioned off and the proceeds will be divided between the both of you.’
‘Excuse me, Mark?’ Mila said, ignoring the way her stomach jolted as Jordan’s eyes zoned in on her. ‘The will says that I’ve been left half of Greg’s portion as his “daughter-in-law,” right?’ When Mark nodded his head, she continued. ‘So, since Jordan and I aren’t married any more, won’t that give Jordan grounds to contest the will?’
And leave me out of it?
Mark’s eyebrows rose. ‘When did you get divorced?’
‘About a year ago.’ Jordan spoke now, and his eyes were hopeful when Mila lifted her own to look at his face.
She knew that she shouldn’t take it personally—if Greg’s will could be contested they would both get what they wanted—but her heart still contracted.
She diverted her attention to Mark, saw him riffling through the papers in front of him, and felt concern grow when he lifted one page, his face serious.
‘Is there a problem?’ she asked.
‘I’m afraid so.’ Mark looked at them both and laid the page back down. ‘Before we send the beneficiaries copies of a will, we check all the details we can for accuracy. Your marital status was one of them and, well...’ He gave them both an apologetic look. ‘According to the court records of South Africa, the two of you are still very much married.’
CHAPTER TWO
THE SILENCE THAT stretched through the room was marred only by their breathing.
Jordan tried to use it to compose himself, to control the emotions that hearing he was supposedly still married had drawn from him. But then, how could he compose himself when he knew there had to be some mistake?
‘I could check again,’ Mark said, when Jordan told him as much, ‘but I’m afraid the chances of there being a mistake are quite slim.’
‘But I signed the papers.’ Jordan turned to Mila. ‘You did, too.’
Her eyes, slightly glazed from the shock, looked back at him from a pale face as she nodded her agreement. He fought against his instinct to hold her, to tell her that everything would be okay. It wasn’t his job any more. Unless, he realised as his mind shifted to their current situation, it was.
‘With which law firm did you file the papers? I can have my assistant call them to ask them about it.’
‘With this law firm,’ Jordan said, his voice calm though his insides were in a twist.
Mark frowned. ‘Do you know which lawyer?’
‘With you, Mark. As you’re my family lawyer, I filed the papers with you.’
His patience was wearing thin. All he’d wanted when he’d come back was to sort out his inheritance. Once that bit of unpleasantness was done, he would be able to run his family vineyard.
It was the only way he knew to make up for the fact that he’d left without dealing with any of the unresolved issues with his father. To make it up to his mother, too, he thought, remembering the only thing she had asked of him before she’d died when he was five—that he look after his father.
He forced his thoughts away from how he had failed them both.
‘I think there’s been a mistake of some kind.’ To give him credit, Mark was trying incredibly hard to maintain his professionalism. ‘I remember you asked me to draw up divorce papers. But when I met your father to set up his will last year he said that the two of you were choosing to separate—not divorce.’
‘Wait—Greg set this will up last year?’ Mila’s voice was surprisingly strong despite the lack of colour in her face. ‘When exactly did he do it?’
‘August.’
‘That was a month after his first heart attack. And two months after I signed the divorce papers.’
‘Did they have my signature on them?’ Jordan asked, wondering where she was going with this.
‘Yes, they did.’
‘So you would have been the one to file the papers with Mark?’
If Jordan hadn’t seen her looking worse than this once before—the day of her fall—he would have worried about how muted she had become.
‘I didn’t feel entirely comfortable with that...’
Something in her eyes made him wonder what she meant, but he decided now wasn’t the right time to think about it. Not when he saw that she was struggling to keep her voice devoid of the emotion she couldn’t hide from him.
‘So we are still married,’ he said flatly.
‘No, no—I was going to drop them here after I’d signed, but then Greg asked me whether I would feel better if he did it. Because Mark was your family lawyer,’ she said quickly, avoiding his eyes—which told him she was lying.
It only took him a moment to realise that she was lying about the reason she’d let Greg take the papers, not about his father’s actions.
‘Did you follow up with Dad?’ he demanded, his anger coating his real feelings about the fact that his father had been there for Mila when he hadn’t been. Or the fact that his father had been supportive at all—especially to someone who wasn’t his son. Was it just another way Greg had chosen to show Jordan how wrong his choice to leave had been?
‘Did you?’ she shot back, and Jordan stared at her, wondering again where the fire was coming from.
‘No, clearly not.’
There was a pause.
‘I think that, all things considered, we should probably postpone this meeting until a later point,’ Mark said, breaking the silence.
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea with the time frame we’re working with, Mark.’
Though denial was a tempting option, Jordan knew that he had to face reality. And it seemed the reality was that he was still married.
‘Could you please give us a few moments to talk in private?’
‘Yes, of course.’
If he was perturbed by being kicked out of his own office, Mark didn’t show it as he left the room.
The minute the door clicked closed, Jordan spoke. ‘So, my father was supposed to give the papers to Mark, who was supposed to file them. And since none of that happened, I think Mark’s right—we are still married.’
‘Yes, I think so...’
Her eyes were closed, but Jordan knew it was one of the ways she worked through her feelings. Closing herself off from the world—and in those last months they’d shared together closing herself off from him—so she could think.
The silence stretched out long enough that he became aware of a niggling inside his heart. One tha
t told him that there was still hope for them if they were married. He didn’t like it at all—not when that hope had already been dashed when Mila had accepted the divorce.
He had filed for divorce because he’d thought that it was what she wanted—she hadn’t called, hadn’t spoken to him once after he’d walked out through the door to a life in Johannesburg. He’d taken it as a sign that she wanted the space she had asked him for to be permanent. And so he’d thought he would make it easier for the both of them by initiating the divorce, half expecting her to call him, to demand that he come home so that they could fix things.
But he’d realised soon enough that that wasn’t going to happen—when had she demanded anything from him anyway?—and he’d figured that he had done the right thing. Especially since he had been the one to make the decision that had caused the heartbreak they’d suffered in the first place.
‘Your father spoke to me about a reunion between the two of us.’
He turned his head to her when she spoke. Her voice held that same music he had heard the first time they’d met.
‘In his last few months. He wanted us to be together again.’
She opened her eyes, and Jordan had to brace himself against what the pain he saw there did to him. Against the anguish that disappointment was the last thing his father had felt about him.
He cleared his throat. ‘I suppose that gives this situation some meaning. He wanted us to plan an event like the one where we met. He knew that still being married would mean we would have to bend to his will. Unless we can show that he was unfit when he made it.’
‘I don’t think that will work.’
She shook her head, and he wondered why she kept tying her hair up when those curls were meant to be free.
‘He was completely sane—his heart attacks had nothing to do with his ability to make rational decisions.’
‘What’s rational about this?’
She lowered her eyes. ‘Nothing. Of course, nothing. But making an emotional decision isn’t against the law.’
‘It should be.’
‘Maybe.’ She looked at him stoically. ‘But he isn’t the first person to do that in this family, so I think we can forgive him.’
A Marriage Worth Saving Page 3
