The Divorcétante

Prologue

One Year Ago

Ebony

Ellswood, Georgia

I’m always amazed how small, seemingly insignificant moments can change the course of a life. Everyday choices and actions that feel inconsequential at the time can set off a chain of major, unpredictable events.

Switch coffee shops and strike up a conversation with a handsome stranger in line.

Take a new airport route, get stuck in traffic, miss the plane… crash ?

Take the elevator instead of the stairs, get stuck for hours with the musky Old Spice IT guy who knows all the office gossip.

Send the text, and sexy gym guy responds immediately with, What took you so long ?

Romance, great coffee, a near-miss brush with fate, and the inside scoop are all potentially life-changing outcomes. Plus or minus the potential survivor’s guilt, but endless possibilities.

Consider the tale of the “picture-perfect” couple.

At sixteen years old, a West Coast swim sensation’s father takes a high school principal position, relocating his family to Ellswood, Georgia.

The transition is smooth for him and his elementary teacher wife, but the daughter’s life irrevocably intersects with the small- ish town prince, er … captain of the football team.

Be still her teenage heart, because the boys back home were just all right…but of course this boy is super fine. Tall, muscular, golden-brown skin, nice lips. Not to mention wealthy, and the eldest son of Ellswood’s beloved late mayor and the Zion & Zara chapter president.

It’s a swoon-worthy new girl and small-town heartthrob meet-cute, practically perfect in every way.

Of course he’s gorgeous.

Naturally, she’s interested. In no time, she’s taking the long way to class just to smile as they pass in the hallway.

She’s a sophomore, and he’s a junior, but wouldn’t it be perfect if he was into her, too?

If, like in all those high school relationships in the movies, the universe conspired to make their worlds collide on this tiny pinprick on the map?

I mean, she doodled her name with his last name, and Lord , if it didn’t fit like a one-size-fits-one glass slipper.

That must mean something.

In her heart eyes, they just make sense.

They’ll date and hold hands. As with all the best romances, tradition dictates he’ll give her jewelry or clothing, preferably a gold promise ring and his letterman jacket, which she’ll flaunt in the halls.

And if things really go to plan, they’ll go to prom.

Twice. His and hers. It would simply be magic at work…

More like a dream, she thinks.

So, imagine her surprise the following year, when the stars align at the hands of their own matchmaking mamas.

New Girl and Cute Guy start dating for real. For real!

If only she’d known his pompous, highfalutin mama was a full-fledged “I’m not one of your little friends” mama.

That there is no way on Reverend Al Green’s earth she’d leave the fate of her precious son’s future and her family’s prestigious name up to chance.

After deeming New Girl worthy, she hand-grooms her to be a Zion & Zara, poised and polished debutante… and future wife.

Ah , nothing turns a daydream into a nightmare quite like an arranged marriage.

Or waltzing in a giant white ball gown while discussing which fork to use during the fish course. Or politely nodding while everyone asks when you’re getting married.

The pair is living the picture-perfect fairytale, but the romantic spell is broken.

If only New Girl could go back and convince her father to turn down that promotion, she’d be home, swimming and doodling the names of forgettable boys.

But, alas, the fated house of cards falls.

After college, she and Cute Guy return to Ellswood.

He’s still charming and still gorgeous, though spineless when it comes to his mother.

She’ll make do. Two years later, their high-society engagement ends as they jump the diamond-encrusted broom, sweeping them into a lifetime of Lifestyles of the Elite and Loveless.

Now, he’s the charming anchor for KTEG News at Noon , she’s a premier event planner, and they’re nearing their tenth anniversary—yet every day feels like déjà vu. She works days, he’s gone most nights, and in between they smile for the cameras.

If the quiet walls of their six-bedroom estate could talk… Thank God, they can’t.

Dad’s seemingly insignificant choice to uproot our lives. That flimsy, fated house of cards. That’s what’s been running through my mind all morning. Another spade—or likely, a heart—feels like it’s teetering.

My husband turned off his location on his phone.

It’s a small, seemingly insignificant choice that could be for any number of reasons.

Maybe I can’t track his phone because it died.

Or what if it was stolen? Maybe it’s just a poor GPS signal.

Our anniversary’s in two weeks—he could be taking extra precautions to keep his gift a secret. I don’t know.

But I can’t ignore it.

It’s just one of the many things that drive me up the wall, makes me do outrageous things I’d never usually do.

Which is why my mind’s on the private investigator who’s been tracking Julian when Azalea and Yvette, the co-hosts of Ellswood’s nationally syndicated The Morning Tea , lean forward across from me—across from us . I’m with my client, Josephine Carter, promoting the charity gala I helped plan.

Josephine smiles, her expression screaming, Welcome back to the present!

Dang it. What did I miss?

The hosts lean in closer, giving off that casual, knowing air, as if it’s just them and the audience, conveniently forgetting the millions watching from home.

Any loyal viewer—or slightly spaced-out guest—would clock the moment.

It’s the switch-up.

I’ve seen a couple episodes. I get their format. The segment’s ending soon. Tea must be spilled. Expeditiously.

Then again, that viewer— or guest —might also notice the poised elegance of the two Black women on the garish faux-fur guest sofa.

Across from the matching pastel skirt suits and asymmetrical lace-front bob hosts, we’re a stark contrast. Ankles crossed, angled just so, posture impeccable.

The younger woman— yours truly —radiating quiet dignity in her tailored navy sheath dress, her flawless four-carat diamond ring gleaming under the studio lights.

But when Yvette looks at me, I can’t shake the feeling. She sees an easy target.

“Ebony Grace Livingston…” She dips her buffed and over-contoured chin, her deep brown eyes narrowing under a dark umbrella of eyelashes.

“Now, I know you’re here, it’s the end of April, you’re helping Mrs. Carter promote the Mother II Mother charity next month, but girrrrl …

” she says, far too familiar. “Can we get personal for a few seconds?”

Absolutely not.

“How personal?” I chuckle.

Azalea gives a quick nod to the production assistant behind the camera, who holds up the APPLAUD NOW cue card.

The audience erupts in cheers, and all I can do is smile.

I knew .

Somewhere deep in my gut, I knew there was zero chance these women would sacrifice ratings for respect. My boundaries will be steamrolled in two seconds.

Azalea and Yvette are known for trending gossip.

Anything scandalous or salacious is right up their alley.

Especially when it concerns Ellswood’s elite.

They built their fame on the back of The Luxe Ladies of Ellswood (seasons seven and ten, respectively), a reality-ish TV franchise showcasing the glamorous, drama-filled lives of the almost famous.

They want exclusive, shock-value content that seeps onto social media like poison—and they want to use me as the needle to inject it straight into the bloodstream.

That’s why I initially declined to appear with Josephine. Somehow, charity galas didn’t seem exactly titillating enough for daytime TV.

But I run a premier event-planning company, specializing in high-end affairs with meticulous attention to detail.

I offer elegance, sophistication, and effortless luxury to a discerning clientele.

Whether it’s a lavish wedding, an intimate gathering, or, in this case, a charity gala, I’m there to deliver.

Even if that means accompanying my client onto a nationally syndicated “tea-spilling” morning show—broadcast by my husband’s rival news station—I’m all in.

I also made it crystal clear to the producer that my personal life was off-limits.

Pause, peace, power.

I inhale deeply, then lock eyes with her.

“Now, Yvette…” Girl, you know you’re so wrong for this.

I flash a small smile, then glance at Josephine before pressing a steady hand over my dress hem.

“We’re here to celebrate an evening of elegance and lasting impact for South Georgia’s youth ahead of Mother’s Day next month…

” Uh… Mother II Mother. The gala is the reason we’re here…

Lord, do not let this woman come for me.

It’s most definitely a warning that I pray she heeds.

Except her full pink lips curl into a thin, placating smile. Then she shifts her gaze to the audience, her expression begging for sympathy. I tried, it says. She ’s the one holding out on y’all…

A collective sigh echoes through the studio, but I don’t feel the least bit sorry. So, the poor, gossip-slinging daytime host won’t get the scoop. And?

And scene.

That’s where my mind goes, but Josephine na?vely eats it up.

“Oh, now, Ebony…” Her face softens, eyes pleading with that polite grandma hush now look. “We came all this way. We can take a minute if you want to share a little something with your fans.”

All the way out here. Everything in this city is a twenty-minute drive, but okay.

“For the fans.” Yvette smirks, and my blood boils something fierce.

Especially because Azalea leans forward, stretching her neck to the audience, her smile wide as the damn Cheshire cat’s as she nudges Yvette’s shoulder. “Yeah, Ebony, girl , it’s just a couple questions…”