“Because the person with the honor,” I said, “the person who’s struggled, and who’s overcome? The person who needs to be named Te Mana? It’s you.”
She gasped once, and then she was in my arms. I couldn’t have said if she’d gone there, or if I’d pulled her in. It didn’t matter anyway. We sat there in the middle of a café in Chancery Lane, surrounded by lawyers, and I held her, tried to rein in my emotions, and failed completely.
Did it occur to me to tell her about the niggle with the license? Possibly. Did I do it? No. It would be sorted by tomorrow, and whatever she said, she didn’t need to know. Should we have talked more about children, and my parents, and a few other things? Probably.
Maybe I was struggling toward mana. Maybe. But I wasn’t there.
Ah, well.
Hope
People were staring at us, I realized, in their discreet, polite, I’m-not-actually-staring New Zealand way. Well, we probably made an odd couple, Hemi twice my size and as dark as I was fair, not to mention my jeans and sweater and Hemi’s custom-made black suit. And then there was the fact that we were embracing passionately in a lawyers’ café in the middle of the city. And in the middle of the workday.
“You pop the question, mate?” an older man asked from the closest table. When I looked startled, he said, “Ring,” and pointed to his wedding finger.
“Nah,” Hemi said. “Already did that. But I keep having to convince her again that the right answer is ‘yes.’”
I kept my head on his chest—not that he was letting me go anyway—and started to believe it might work, “need to know” and all. “If you didn’t keep messing up so badly,” I murmured into the warm white cotton of his dress shirt, “you wouldn’t have to do all that convincing.”
“Could be,” he said. “But then, I enjoy convincing you.” He stood up, picked up the bag with some lingerie that I might actually end up wearing after all, put out a hand, and drew me to my feet. “Let’s go collect Karen so we can go home and get this party started.”
He was as quiet on the drive through four o’clock traffic to Penrose as he had been on the drive up, but the silence felt different now: contented and settled, rather than full of spiky edges and treacherous undercurrents. And when we walked into Violet’s studio again, she looked us over with obvious satisfaction and said, “Got it sorted, then, did you?”
“Yeh.” Hemi’s face had settled back into its usual inscrutable lines, but at least it wasn’t hard anymore. “Though I’ve got a bone to pick with you.”
“Nah, mate,” Violet said calmly, “you need to be thanking me. Somebody has to shove a window open now and then. It’s got to get stuffy in that head of yours, the way you keep everything bottled up. And I wouldn’t even want to guess about your heart.”
“No worries,” Hemi said. “Hope doesn’t bother with the windows. She goes straight to breaking down the door.”
“Well, awesome,” Karen said, “because I am wearing this dress on Saturday, even if I have to wear it to the beach.”
“No,” Hemi said. “At the marae.” He told Violet, “You’re invited, by the way.”
“You just want a last-minute stylist,” she said, and he actually laughed. “But I might do, at that. Just because I love a Maori wedding, and to witness the breaking down in process. That sounds like it’d be worth seeing.” She eyed me with interest. “I wouldn’t have thought it. The way you look…”
“People look all kinds of ways,” I said. “Including small people. It doesn’t mean a thing.” All right, that was rude, but when you’re little and blonde, you get that a lot.
She smiled. “Nah, guess not. Mother Teresa was five feet tall, eh.”
“I’m not Mother Teresa,” I said. “Unfortunately. Or I probably wouldn’t have said that just now.”
“Good thing, too,” Hemi had to put in. “As she was a nun. Put me right off my stride, haven’t you, Vi. Cheers for the mental picture.”
She waved a dismissive hand. “By the way, Hemi, I’ve got a shopping list for you. I’ll text it to you, now that I know you’ll be needing it.”
“About that…” he said.
He walked with her across the room while Karen called out, “You’d better not be telling him about her dress. It’s bad luck.” And I thought that surely, that was impossible. It was what Hemi had said. The doors were down, or at least open, and that breeze blowing through them? That was nothing but the fresh air of a brand-new start.
We were driving back through Auckland, then, inching along in rush-hour traffic to get out of the city and back to the coast. Hemi didn’t betray any annoyance at the delay. He was back to his customary stillness, fully under control again. So I had to tease him, naturally. “You know,” I said, “if you’d told me about your first marriage up front like a normal person, we’d practically be home by now, and I’d have tried on my wedding underwear, so you’d only have had to pay for one set, and so I’d have known that I’d found something that would make you happy to see me on Saturday night. I might even have bought shoes. I feel compelled to mention that.”
Karen heaved a mighty sigh from behind us. “Never mind me. I’ll just be reading my book here and ignoring the inappropriate conversational topics. Do I really want to move in with the two of you? That’s what I’m asking myself.”
The corner of Hemi’s mouth twitched. “Call it role modeling,” he said to Karen. “Learning how to keep your future husband on his toes, eh. And moving in with me isn’t a choice.”
Karen said, “Oh, nice,” and Hemi actually laughed. And yes, that was dictatorial, but it was also telling Karen loud and clear that he wanted her, and how could that be anything but great?
He said, low enough that Karen couldn’t hear, “I’m guessing I’ll be happy enough to see you on Saturday night. And you know I’ll pay for as many sets of lingerie as you want to buy.” Then he punched a button on the steering wheel to turn on the playlist from his phone and added, “This is so you can’t ask me my favorite color or how I felt after my dog died when I was eleven.”
“Did your dog die when you were eleven?”
“Nah. Didn’t have a dog.”
“And, see?” I said. “You just shared. Hardly hurt at all, I’ll bet.”
He smiled, then fell silent again, the radio played, and as the kilometers of gray highway spooled away behind us as the scene changed from apartments and commercial buildings to green hillsides dotted by sheep, and then to the flat farmlands that lay between Auckland and the Bay of Plenty.
After a while, I closed my eyes and drifted into a half-sleep. Fighting is tiring, and relief is exhausting. Or maybe that depends on how much you need it.
I jerked awake to the sound of a ringing phone, then Hemi’s voice saying, “Te Mana.”
A male voice boomed from the speaker by my ear. “Walter Eagleton here. I’ve got your answer. The reason your divorce certificate wasn’t accepted by the registrar is that you’re still married.”
Hope
There was silence in the car for a second, then the music started up again, and I almost thought I’d dreamed what I’d heard. Then I saw the look on Hemi’s face, and I realized what he’d done. He’d hung up, like that would work, like I’d just…what? Forget it?
His driving was still smooth and controlled, his hands firm on the wheel. Of course they were. I said, “Call him back.”
Karen asked, “What’s going on?”
I ignored her. Hemi still hadn’t moved or said anything, so I said it again. “Call him back. Right now.”
He glanced at me, then back at the road, his face still completely impassive. “No.”
“Then let me out of this car,” I said.
“I’ll ring him later,” he said. “We’ll talk about it when I know more.”
Have you ever heard the saying, “steam came out of her ears”? Well, that was me. “No,” I said. “We’ll talk about it right now. What do you think I was telling you back in the café? Was that just…just
noise to you? Call him back.”
Hemi still didn’t answer, and I was trying to think of what else to say, trying to contain myself, and knowing there was no way. He was slowing for a town, and for one crazy second, I actually did think of jumping out. I was that mad.
I’d never been all that tough, but it seemed people could change. Or maybe it was just that everybody had a limit, and I’d reached mine.
Hemi was parking, though, still without a word, in a diagonal spot on the street, and I clamped my mouth shut and waited.
Don’t explode, I told myself. He doesn’t have to say you’re right. He’s doing what you asked. Hopefully. Or we’re going to have a fight. Wait and see which it is.
I didn’t find out for another minute, because he pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and flipped it open, took out a few bills, and handed them back to Karen. “Go have something to eat,” he told her. “Or go shopping, maybe, until Hope texts you.”
“For what? Tires?” Karen asked as she grabbed her backpack and climbed out. I saw her point. We were parked outside a Firestone store. She poked her head back into the car to announce, “This day has been one big fun time. I’m just saying. Plus, I’m going to get a caffeine addiction, the way you guys keep sending me off to have lattes while you fight.”
“We aren’t fighting,” I said. Well, hopefully not.
“Hope,” Karen said, “you’re totally fighting. Maybe you guys need, like, marriage counseling or something.”
“That would be wonderful,” I said, “except that Hemi is apparently still married.”
All right, so I exploded a teensy bit.
“I’m gone,” Karen said. She slammed the car door and headed down the street, and I sat and took deep breaths and tried to calm down.
“Right,” I finally said. “I want to hear what he says. Please call him back.”
Hemi shot another glance at me, then picked up his phone and punched a button.
“Walter Eagleton,” I heard over the speakers.
“We got cut off,” Hemi said. “Tell me now.”
“You’re still married,” the voice—Walter—said. “The attorney you used seems to have had a bad habit of taking clients’ money without doing any work, then faking the documentation. You weren’t the only one. He left a real mess behind. He’s disbarred now, or I’d advise you to file a complaint.”
“He didn’t file anything? Not even the initial paperwork?” Hemi asked, his voice still perfectly controlled. “The separation?’
“No.”
The word lay in the car like a stone, and after a minute, when Hemi didn’t respond, the voice went on. “I did some poking around, contacted a family law attorney over there, and got some more information. It sounds like it could get complicated.”
“How?” Hemi asked.
“Well, first, there’s getting that divorce through. You’ve got to serve the other party, then get on the docket. The good news is, it’s not New York. A few months, that’s all, as long as we can find her.”
Her. The other party. Hemi’s wife.
Well, I’d felt like we were rushing, hadn’t I? A few months would be fine. Never mind that we already had the date and the place, and that it was a place that mattered to Hemi, and the people who mattered to him, too. Not to mention those hopes and dreams of my own.
No. This is reality, not a fairy tale. It would be fine. Except for, you know, that thing that was keeping me frozen. Another secret. After everything we’d said—one more great big, whopping, destructive secret.
“But maybe that’s just as well,” Walter said, echoing my thought, except not, because he went on to say, “There’s still that prenuptial agreement to work out. You do know, I’m sure, that your fiancée will have to get her own attorney for that, and if he’s any good at all, he’ll be pushing us hard. Working with that tight deadline might have been advantageous there, but that’s out the window anyway, so we may as well focus on the positive. We’ll have plenty of time to play hardball.”
I’d heard the phrase “The hair rose on the back of her neck,” too, but I’d never experienced it before.
“But the main issue,” Walter said, “is that the division of marital property in New Zealand is on an ‘equal sharing’ basis. Which appears to be what I’d think of as ‘community property.’ In other words, you’re looking at a fifty-fifty split of anything either party has acquired during the course of the marriage. And that is very bad news, unless…”
Hemi remained as still as stone, but my head was spinning. Too much information, and, no, it wasn’t the prospect of Hemi having less money that was dominating my thoughts.
“Unless what?” Hemi asked.
“The ‘equal sharing’ rule only applies if you lived together a total of three years, not counting your mandatory two-year separation before the divorce. I have the date of your marriage here, of course, but I don’t know whether you lived together before you got married, or when you separated.”
Hemi, his voice curt and cold, gave Walter two dates—months and years—that he’d somehow pulled from his memory bank, and I found myself able to marvel at that even in the midst of my agitation.
“Hmm,” Walter said. “I make that not quite three years. Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” Hemi said.
“Then from what I know, the divorce—dissolution—is simple. We just have to track down your wife and serve her, then get a court date. You won’t even have to appear. We won’t bring up the issue of any property settlement, of course, and we’ll hope for the best.”
“Fine,” Hemi said.
“And I’d recommend that you delay setting any date for your wedding until everything’s settled,” Walter said. “As the terms of the prenup could depend on what you’re required to distribute to your current wife, if anything, and not setting the date will give you a strong psychological advantage. From what my matrimonial colleagues tell me, that leverage could be important. It could save you millions, in fact.”
“Fine,” Hemi said again. “Get it started straight away. Today.”
“The dissolution?” Walter asked. “Or the prenup? Or both?”
“The dissolution. Today. Go.”
A moment of silence, and then music filled the car again. Al Green. Let’s Get Married.
Oh, great. Nice. Perfect.
Hemi twisted the key, pulled it from the ignition, and the music blessedly stopped. “Well, that’s that,” he said. “It won’t be this week. You’ll have time to get your shoes.”
Hemi
“And no,” I told Hope, aiming to cut her off before she started. “Obviously, I didn’t know that I was still married.”
She turned and stared at me for a long moment, her eyes huge in her set face. Then she got out of the car, slammed the door, and started walking fast down the street, in the opposite direction from the café.
I swore under my breath and headed after her, and she’d only taken a few steps before I had a hand on her upper arm. “Do not run away from me,” I told her, and if I wasn’t completely under control? I had good reason. “You want to talk? We’re talking. Now.”
She whirled on me and said, “Do…not…push me! I am so mad at you, Hemi. I don’t…” She put both hands on top of her head, made the kind of noise that, in a cartoon character, would be something like, “Grrr!” and I almost laughed in spite of everything.
I didn’t, though. I was more clever than that.
“Right,” I said. “Let’s walk.” Unnecessarily, since Hope was already marching down the street again, fury evident in every line of her body. The storm from the day before had passed, at least, but the air was chilly, night was falling, and she’d left the car without a coat.
I took off my suit coat and handed it to her. “Here. Put this on.”
“I don’t need it,” she said stiffly.
“Hope,” I said. “Don’t push me. Put it on.”
She swung around on me again. “Do you think you have any room at a
ll to tell me to do anything?”
I took a breath and blew it out, trying to center myself. “Yes. I do. Because I love you. And right now, I don’t want you to be cold.”
She hesitated a moment, then said, “Fine. Whatever. Thank you,” let me settle the jacket over her shoulders, tugged it around her, and turned the corner.
Within a couple minutes, we’d left the commercial buildings behind and were in a residential area. A dog barked as we passed, and that was all. Waihi at almost six o’clock on a June evening, the deep blue of twilight settling in, lights shining from windows and only the occasional car passing.
“I suppose you want me to say that I’m sorry I didn’t tell you there was a…wee glitch with the license this morning,” I said when Hope remained silent. “I didn’t think I’d need to.”
“Uh-huh,” she said. “And what were you going to do if the…wee glitch didn’t resolve itself, and you couldn’t get the license? I can’t wait to hear this plan.”
“Uh…” I put my hand up and rubbed the back of my head. “I was thinking I’d…” I stopped.
“Hemi,” she said. “What? Talk.”
“Right,” I said reluctantly. “I thought I could have a word with the celebrant and see if he’d do it anyway. As a…an affirmation,” I hurried to add.
She’d turned to stare at me, her steps slowing. “An affirmation? You weren’t even going to tell me? Or anybody?”
“Of course I was.” I was starting to get narky myself. She wanted me to be honest, and then she didn’t want to hear? Then she shouldn’t ask. “I’d have told you, at least. Later. I’d have had to, wouldn’t I? I’d have explained once I had the paperwork sorted, and we could’ve done the official bit back in New York, and we’d have been all good.”
She’d stopped walking, and her mouth was opening, then closing. “The official bit,” she finally got out. “That would the actual marriage.” She started walking again and shook her head. “I should still be so upset. I am still so upset. But I’m also just…” She waved an arm around. “I’ve got no words.”
Fractured (Not Quite a Billionaire #2) Page 8
