Her Inconvenient Groom by Niomie Roland
Chapter 42
A whole day. That’s how long it had been since he’d heard from Chantelle. Dustin had been obliged to stay at the house, falling back on clothes he’d left behind before he’d gone off to France, since all his bags had been in the trunk of the limo that had been so patiently waiting out front.
He’d been forced to bunk with Aaron, since Jen was still firmly ensconced in his bedroom, and the less he had to do with her, the better. It was as if a pall of silence had fallen upon the house, and even Kim looked embarrassed at having been a party to the discomfort by inviting Jen to stay in the first place.
But still, Kim remained resolute that Dustin should “do the right thing”, whatever that meant in this situation.
He hadn’t slept for a minute, and tossed and turned on the bottom bunk so much that his brother had yelled down to him to either be still or go sleep on the couch. Instead, he’d gotten dressed and gone for a jog down old familiar roads. Running the problem through his mind and trying to come up with a solution.
He’d never been to Chantelle’s home. Not surprising considering their marriage had only recently began on loving terms. He had a vague idea where her office was located, but felt he didn’t want her private life further exposed to her employees.
She hadn’t answered any of his calls, so what was he to do? He was just grateful that he remembered her number by heart, because he didn’t even have his own phone. It was still stuffed somewhere in his carry on which was with the rest of their luggage.
Which he hoped was safely ensconced in Chantelle’s home.
He’d stopped stock still as an idea hit him. His home had a ‘find your phone’ app installed, which was equipped with GPS. Which would lead him right to Chantelle.
He’d raced home, snatched up Aaron’s phone—which hadn’t gone down well with his half-asleep brother—and punched in some keys.
Success.
Now here he was, standing outside the massive iron gates that guarded the stone walls surrounding one of the most massive mansions he’d ever seen. Spending time with Chantelle in her relatively small French home had not prepared him for this. He’d known she had money, sure, but lazing out on the porch enjoying the countryside of Aix, sipping coffee and laughing with her, had helped him to forget that he was married to a powerful, extremely wealthy woman.
It almost made him feel small by comparison. But I’m her husband, he reminded himself. And I love her. So even though he would never, in life, amass a financial worth that could compare with hers, he had nothing to be ashamed of.
A crisply uniformed guard came out and spoke to him. After five minutes of attempting to persuade the distrustful, suspicious man, Dustin finally gained admittance. He was thoroughly searched before entry.
A housekeeper in a starched white apron met him at the door, and she, too, was deeply suspicious. Nevertheless, she led him to an antechamber just off of the main hallway, where Dustin stood and waited patiently. A large framed painting of a woman who most certainly was Chantelle’s mother stood next to a man who closely resembled Dennis Clark. No doubt he was Chantelle’s stepfather—sorry, father—Simon Clark.
“Why are you here?”
He turned around to see his wife standing in the doorway. He noticed, too, that the housekeeper was anxiously hovering. Chantelle signaled her to go away.
“I’m here to see my wife,” he answered.
She said nothing. Her face betrayed no emotion. She must be a beast at the negotiating table, he thought. Or a poker game.
He pressed on, refusing to be daunted. “I came for you, Chantelle.”
“Why?”
Why? he wondered. Why else? “Because I love you.” There was little he could say that conveyed more meaning than that.
But she was unmoved. Aching inside, he tried his best to explain. “Jen claims the child is mine. I am certain that she is lying—”
“How?”
“Because I was always very careful. I wanted us to be married before we had kids. We hardly slept together before she left, since I suspected she was getting closer to a man from school. I wasn’t able to admit that to myself until after she had left me.” Then, he reminded her, “Taking everything I had.” Wow, he thought, that sounded petty. He clarified. “After she left, I saw the text messages she shared with another man on our phone plan. It confirmed she was cheating on me.”
“You’re trying to say this child could be his?”
He shook his head. “Jen told me the other guy had a paternity test done, and the baby isn’t his—”
“Then it’s yours. Plain and simple. And you need to go be with your family—”
“No! You are my family!” he protested. “I love you, and I want to spend my life with you.”
“Not when you have a random baby and lied to me about it!”
“I’m a liar?” he repeated, incredulously.
“You said you wanted to be with me. You said you wanted this to be a real marriage. That you loved me.” Her voice caught in her throat. “But not one word or even a whisper about your ex having a daughter that could be yours! I asked you about your relationship with her while we hiked and you could have said something then! You didn’t!” She was flushed in her anger. “That, to me, is lying!”
“I’m sorry—”
“I lived a lie for 30 years, told to me by my own parents. What made you think I’d be willing to live with one now?”
He began again, growing more desperate. “I—”
She held up her hand to shut him up. “Enough. I’m done.” She walked over to a table and grabbed a leather briefcase lying on top of it, flung open the lid and grasped a thin sheaf of papers. Then she whirled around.
“After what I’ve gone through with the poisoning, after the way I lost my baby—”
He began to correct her. “Our—”
“Shut up! I don’t want to hear you!” She thrust the papers at him. “My womb is empty. My body may never recover. I’m no use to you. Why not go to the woman who can? Who has provided you with a prodigy?”
He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. After all they’d been through together, she found it this easy to toss him aside? “Chantelle, sweetheart. You can’t be serious.”
She threw the papers at him in frustration. “For God’s sake! Just take them, sign them and get the hell out! My lawyer will contact yours and the second check will be sent to Kim.”
He bent down, slowly picking up each sheet of paper, and for some ridiculous reason, arranging them in order as he did so. As if his brain welcomed the diversion.
Then, once they were all neat and nice, he held them up before her and tore them right down the middle. “Here’s what I think of your damn divorce papers.”