“I don’t agree to this.” He glowers at me.
“I don’t care.” I smirk in his direction. “And you can’t stop me. We are getting divorced now, and you are moving out. If you refuse to play ball, I’ll be forced to use these photos.”
“You won’t. You’re bluffing.”
He’s right. I am. I would die before I let the kids see those pictures. As much as I hate Curtis, he is still their father, and I won’t interfere in their relationship with him. There are lots of challenging times ahead, but that is one of the biggest challenges—keeping my personal opinions to myself and not letting how I feel about him influence how my kids handle things. “Am I?” My brows lift. “You underestimate how much I loathe you, Curtis. Go ahead. Call my bluff. You’re the one who’ll suffer the consequences.”
“You’re such a fucking bitch! How I managed to stay married to you this long is a fucking miracle.”
“Touché, darling.” Sarcasm drips from my tone.
A muscle grinds in his jaw, and it feels good to have the upper hand. “Fine. You’ve made your point. We’ll do it your way, but if you even think about showing those photos to the kids, I will make it my goal to ruin your life. I will come after you with everything and leave you with nothing.” I’m sure he wishes he could do that, but it isn’t the way the law works. He stalks off, stopping at the door to glare at me again. “I’m on a business trip Monday and Tuesday, but I think I’ll get an early start.”
“What a super idea!” I say, letting my grin run free. “Good riddance!” I add when he wrangles the door open, almost yanking it off the hinges. “Tell your little girlfriend I wish her good luck because she’s going to need it.”
20
KENDALL
I take some vacation time from work this week, making the best use of it while Curtis is away, transforming the master bedroom into my ideal sanctuary. I completely gut the room, replacing all the furniture, repainting the walls a dusky pink, and installing the plush gray carpet I have always wanted. My new four-poster bed has flimsy white curtains and six-hundred-thread-count Egyptian cotton bed linen. The dazzling white sheets and pillowcases have a thin gray border running around the edge, and it’s crisp, fresh, and sophisticated. A myriad of pink, gray, and white cushions adorn the bed, contrasting beautifully with the gray-patterned drapes covering the window.
In the corner, I replaced the couch with a large white leather recliner and stacked white bookshelves around it. A tall reading lamp, some patterned cushions, and a mini refrigerator complete my new reading nook. Inspirational quotes in silver frames line the side wall, but I have purposely left the other wall free because I plan to buy one of Vander’s paintings to hang there.
I have plans to remodel the closet, and I want to install a dressing table with an LED mirror, but that will have to wait until after the holidays because I couldn’t find any contractors available to complete the job on such short notice, no matter how much of Curtis’s money I offered them.
A thick padlock is secured to the inside of the bedroom door, and I moved all of Curtis’s things to the guest bedroom. He can sleep there until he moves out next week. When Stella asked what was going on, I lied and said her daddy’s snoring was keeping me up at night and it’s best if we slept apart for now. I’m not sure if she bought it, and I hate lying to her, but my friends are right—there is no way I can continue to share a bed with a man I despise. I’m liable to strangle him in his sleep, and I’d rather not spend the rest of my life behind bars because Curtis Hawthorne isn’t worth it.
An evil grin creeps over my mouth every time I think of Curtis’s reaction when he returns home and sees what I have done. I am clinging to my anger now and using it to propel me into action. My despicable husband is not playing me any longer, and it’s time to redress the balance.
The results of my medical screening came back, and thankfully, I’m clean. It was so humiliating completing the form at my ob-gyn’s, especially since Dr. Leo is the doctor I went to when I was pregnant with Ridge. But I had to put my embarrassment aside and remember I’m not the one who looks like a piece of shit in this scenario. I won’t take any risks with my health, period, and I needed to know if Curtis had passed any diseases to me. At least that is one less thing to worry about.
The front door slams; there’s a loud thud in the hall and then the sounds of racing footsteps bounding up the stairs. Wiping my hands down the front of my apron, I check that I set the timer on the stove before stepping out into the hallway to investigate. Schools end early today because it’s Thanksgiving tomorrow and the start of a four-day, long weekend. I collected Ridge earlier, and I know he’s up in his bedroom playing X-box, so it’s either West or Stella who just came in. Spying the duffel bag dumped in the hall, I confirm it’s my son. He’s been in a bad mood all week, and I’ve been feeling guilty because of Saturday night. This is the exact scenario I was trying to avoid.
Vander has sent me a few text messages I haven’t replied to because I would rather speak to him in person. I half expected him to show up here, but he hasn’t. Things weren’t left on the best of terms with us, and I regret I was so angry with him. He shouldn’t have gone behind my back, and I was right to be mad at him for blatantly ignoring my wishes, but the photos were a game changer. They gave me some bargaining power, and he’s the reason I was able to instruct my attorney to draw up the divorce papers on Monday.
Pushing thoughts of Vander aside, for now, I head up the stairs to talk to my eldest son. “Knock, knock,” I say, peeking my head through his door. West is sprawled out on his bed, on his stomach, with a pillow over his head. Entering his room, I close the door and walk over to him. He removes the pillow from his head as I perch on the edge of the bed. I ruffle his hair as he twists onto his side, looking at me with a helpless expression. “You know I’m here if you want to talk, and a problem shared—”
“Is a problem halved,” he finishes for me. “Grandma Reed was a smart woman. I wish I got the chance to know her.”
My mom died when West was three, and he doesn’t remember her or my father, who passed a year later. My parents had me when they were in their forties, and I was their only child. Growing up a rebellious teenager in that household was a strange experience, but Mom was always full of wisdom and never quick to judge. I miss her every day. “Me too, son. She would have loved you.” My parents would have been in their late seventies now if Mom hadn’t died of breast cancer and a drunk driver hadn’t mowed my father down and killed him.
“Women are so confusing.” West sighs, flopping on his back and staring at the ceiling.
“Tell me what’s troubling you.” I pull my legs up onto the bed and prop my back against the headrest.
West pulls himself upright to sit alongside me, and I wait for him to continue. “Hazel and I had a fight.”
I hate I have to pretend I didn’t know. “Do you want to tell me about it?”
He angles his head, and his big blue eyes stare at me. “Promise not to get mad?”