Chapter 48 #2
Stafford leans in, and as they exchange a few murmured whispers, he nods at something she says.
When she finally takes a seat, she glances over her shoulder, scanning the room, quickly finding Corinne.
Genevieve’s face transforms as if she was just shot with a bolt of sunshine as her hazel eyes brighten, her sinful lips parting to showcase her bright, straight smile.
They exchange a silent conversation, a thousand words shared between them like invisible telegraphs.
Gen’s expression doesn’t falter a bit when her attention lands on Marcus.
If anything, her shoulders sag as he nods.
It’s only when she finally takes me in that her smile falls, a mask of ambivalence eclipsing anything she might feel.
As she shifts her focus back to the front of the courtroom, I battle with the innate need to drag her over the banister and into my lap, lifting her little skirt to abuse her sweet, unmarred ass.
Genevieve Watts has always been mine, whether her name was @dc_d0ll or Allison, nothing has changed in fourteen years.
“All rise for the Honorable Judge Isom,” the bailiff announces.
The judge bangs his gavel after the room has risen and fallen as one, the ominous sound echoing through my mind in ripples of dark thoughts. What if this doesn’t work? Will they kill her anyway? What if Drake is right and the government is playing chess while I’m playing checkers?
The courtroom becomes a hive in my head, the same venomous questions and poisonous outcomes I’ve been considering for the last few weeks buzzing around with a vengeance. It’s only the sound of Judge Isom’s voice that drags me out of my own mental vortex.
“Good morning. This is a preliminary hearing to discuss the defense’s motion to dismiss the charges against the defendant, Genevieve Watts.”
Corinne and Marcus seem to hold their breath along with me.
The judge shifts his attention toward the prosecution. “Mr. Potter, is it true that your case hinges on the testimony of the defendant’s husband?”
I’m mildly surprised that Percy York isn’t here to watch as his puppet attempts to go up against Stafford Langfeld. While he’s not in attendance, I have no doubt he’s watching through the eyes of someone in this room.
He stands, his fingertips resting on the table in front of him. “Your Honor, the case relies on the testimony of an agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation who had infiltrated the solicitation ring of which Ms. Watts was the chief organizer,” Marshall Potter replies, his voice steady.
I wasn’t overly optimistic that it would work when I first came up with this plan, but Stafford has assured me that this strategy is solid.
As Genevieve’s husband, I have spousal privilege, and the forged marriage license states that we were married two days prior to engaging in intimate relations, even if I paid for it.
Judge Isom’s hard expression and pursed lips have me rethinking my dubiousness, though.
“Counsel, approach the bench.”
The room sucks in a collective breath as Potter and Langfeld stride toward the front of the courtroom. Stafford’s stance is casual, like someone’s life isn’t hanging in the balance of this proceeding. His confidence is simultaneously infuriating and reassuring.
Time becomes a vacuum of heavy breathing and tapping pens.
With my eyes trained on the back of Genevieve’s head, I study her every micro-movement, dissecting the cadence of her breathing.
In my periphery, I note Corinne reach for Marcus’s hand, intertwining their fingers in a grip tight enough that her knuckles turn bone white.
Suddenly, the two attorneys turn, facing the courtroom as they amble back to their tables. As soon as Stafford takes a seat next to Gen, I track the almost imperceptible hitch of his lips at the corner. The relief that floods me is so strong that my chest threatens to cave in.
I twist my wedding ring around my finger as the judge addresses the court.
“I am dismissing this case without prejudice on grounds of spousal privilege as Ms. Watts’s husband is refusing to testify against her.
The District of Columbia is free to refile charges, should additional, sufficient evidence become available. ”
There’s a low rumbling that rolls through the courtroom that reminds me of a stampede forming in the distance, but Genevieve won’t be trampled.
They’d have to present evidence that didn’t include me next time if they want the charges to stick. I doubt any of her clients are going to be willing to testify against her, not when she still holds their secrets over their heads.
Everyone rises as the judge leaves the courtroom. He’s barely through the doorway before a grinning Genevieve is turning toward Stafford, clasping his hand between both of hers. Her beautiful lips form a plethora of grateful remarks, and he nods politely.
She promptly turns around, and as if a siren had called to them both, Gen and Corinne throw their arms around each other, smiling as they murmur in each other’s ears. As Gen moves to embrace Marcus next, Marshall Potter catches my attention across the room.
Fire dances in his gaze and the look he pins me with says this is not over. We won the first fight today, but I’d be stupid to think that means we’ve won the war.
I dip my chin in his direction, relishing the satisfaction that the scowl forming on his face delivers.
Glancing away, I meet Genevieve’s sparkling hazel eyes. Her lips don’t quite form a smile, but they hold a gentleness that was notably absent during our last encounter.
“Thank you,” she says on an exhale, and my heart sings.
Maybe, just maybe, she can move past my betrayal and the fact that I had us married without her consent or knowledge.
Maybe there’s still hope that we can get back to the dynamic we had when she first sauntered into my office and dropped to her knees because she wanted me.
Maybe she’ll let me kiss her again because once will never be enough.
I nod and force my pulse to slow now that the fantasy of finally getting to live the life I used to dream about has become reality. “Ready to go home?”
Her chest expands with a deep breath, and I’m certain she’s biting back a retort about the home in question belonging to me, but she manages to swallow it.
She makes her way to the aisle where I meet her, gesturing for her to go first. Her attention snags on my left hand, and she stares at my gold band for a beat too long before striding ahead of me.
Disappointment sluices through my veins, but I shove it down. We have bigger issues to contend with, like the hoard of press outside.