Chapter 15
Rosa
“T hank you so much for coming with me,” I say to Sasha as she slides into the passenger seat. “There’s no way I could do this on my own.”
“Of course!” Sasha hands me a white bakery bag and eases two hot drinks from Rise ’n’ Wine into the cup holders. I love their business plan—coffee shop by day, wine bar by night. And their pastries are to die for.
I peek into the bag and see several doughnuts inside. “Bless you,” I tell her as I set the bag on the center console and ease away from the curb.
“Couldn’t resist.” She rifles through the bag before choosing an old-fashioned with chocolate frosting. “They just smelled too good.”
“Always do.” Traffic isn’t too bad this morning, and I get onto the highway headed out of town without too much hassle.
My coffee order is perfect, as always, and I shoot Sasha a grateful smile. I’m so lucky to have her by my side.
“So are you going to tell me where we’re going, or is it going to be a complete surprise until we get there?” Her face lights up with pretend glee. “It’s a surprise party, isn’t it? On a Wednesday morning, eight months before my actual birthday?”
“You caught me,” I deadpan. “I knew you’d never suspect it this way.”
“Perfect.” She takes a big bite of her doughnut and sighs happily. “Actually, you don’t have to tell me. Giving me an opportunity to play hooky last minute is payment enough.”
Sasha works in a salon, which helps out with the constant hair changes. Today she’s got a stick-straight bob, black hair with a streak of bright red underneath. I called her last night, at the end of my rope, and asked if she was free this morning.
Sasha being Sasha, she immediately rescheduled one appointment and canceled another— She’s a pain in the ass anyway and never tips. Let someone else deal with her blowout and roots. —and was waiting on the sidewalk outside the salon right at 10:00 a.m. when I pulled up.
And no, I didn’t tell her last night where we were going. I was still feeling so raw and mixed up, and confessing it over the phone felt too—impersonal.
Although now that we’re in my truck going sixty miles an hour down the highway to the county seat, I’m realizing this isn’t the most typical situation, either.
“Do you know what eight days ago was?” My hands tighten on the steering wheel. “I mean, other than a Tuesday.”
“Damn. Stole my answer.” She shoves the rest of her doughnut into her mouth and chews thoughtfully. “I’m guessing it’s something significant.”
I turn on the blinker and ease into the next lane over. “Yeah, you could say so. According to Jake, it was our ten-year anniversary.”
“Ohhh.” She leans over and pats my knee. “Should’ve warned me. I would’ve asked Inez to add a couple of shots to our coffee orders.”
To my horror, I feel the start of tears prickling at my eyes. Dammit, I am not going to cry over this shit. “Give me a doughnut,” I say instead, holding out my empty hand.
She drops a Bismarck into my palm, then digs a napkin out of the bag and places it on my lap.
I take a bite, savoring the sweet filling and fluffy pastry. After swallowing, I say, “We’re going to the courthouse to prove I’m not married to Jake anymore. That I haven’t been for almost ten years.”
“Okay.”
I glance over. Sasha’s brow is furrowed, like she’s trying to work something out in her head. I focus on traffic while I wait for her to spit it out.
“Why do we need to go to the courthouse, exactly?”
I set the half-eaten doughnut on the napkin and take a long sip of my caramel latte. “Because I need a copy of the annulment filing. I figure that’s the best place to get one.”
She nods. “Got it.”
I finish my coffee and doughnut as we pull up to the old courthouse, a gorgeous three-story brick building with a wide staircase sweeping up to the entrance. I park in the lot across the street, and we make our way to the front of the building. For some unknown reason, my stomach swoops a little as we climb the stairs.
Maybe I should have passed on the coffee and doughnut.
Once we get inside, old craftsmanship turns to modern technology, so we drop our keys and purses into little boxes for x-raying and pass through the metal detectors. I collect my stuff and cross to the directory on the opposite wall. I squint at the tiny letters and numbers.
Sasha comes up and bumps me with her hip. “Public Records,” she reads off the board. “Second floor.”
I toss her a grateful smile, and we head up the stairs to the right, then follow the signs to the office I need.
There’s a line for the counter, so we join the queue and talk quietly as we wait. Or, at least, I try to talk quietly. Sasha keeps showing me ridiculous memes on her phone, and I have to fight the impulse to snort-laugh at half of them.
See, this is why I asked her to come with me. She’s doing her best to distract me, and I appreciate it.
“Next,” says the bored-looking woman at the counter, and I realize with a start that she’s talking to us. Sasha gives my elbow a squeeze as we step forward.
“Hi,” I say with a nervous laugh. “I, uh, need an annulment record.”
“Names of spouses,” the clerk says in a monotone voice. Her septum is pierced, and her name badge reads Millicent .
“Um. Rosa Maria Isabella Martinelli and Jacob Linus Wright.” I elbow Sasha in the side as she snickers at Jake’s middle name. I whisper, “It’s his great-grandfather’s name.”
Millicent ignores us as Sasha mimes zipping her lips. “Date and location of birth for both spouses,” she intones.
Five minutes later, her long list of questions is over and we sit on the bench across the room while Millicent slouches off to the back to work her magic.
Or at least I hope she’s working her magic. For all I know, she could be scrolling on her phone while we wait.
She returns from the back, and I pop off the bench like a windup toy. I may have had a little too much caffeine today already. “Thank you so much for?—”
I stop abruptly as she shakes her head. “No records. Sorry.”
My head swims. “I’m sorry—what?”
“No annulment was filed for that marriage. We have no records.”
Jake was telling the truth.
“I do have a record for the marriage if you want,” she adds helpfully. “Filed in Las Vegas, Nevada, just over ten years ago.”
“No, thank you,” I say faintly. “Sorry to bother you.”
She shrugs and looks away. “Next.”
“Come on.” Sasha wraps her arm around my shoulders and steers me out of the room. “Let’s get out of here.”
Next thing I know, I’m in the passenger seat of the truck and Sasha is pulling out of the parking lot.
“Why are you driving my truck?”
Sasha turns on the blinker and rolls her eyes at me. “Because I’d like to not die on the way back to Oak Creek Canyon,” she says drily. “Lord knows you’re in no condition to be behind the wheel.”
She’s not wrong.
I lean back in my seat and close my eyes. “Oh my God,” I moan. “We’re still married.”
“So it seems.”
I squint at her. “You don’t sound surprised.”
“Don’t forget, I know Jake, too. He’s the stubbornest man alive. If he didn’t want an annulment, he wouldn’t get the annulment. Geno’s big mistake was leaving the paperwork with Jake rather than filing it himself.”
True. If Uncle Geno had handled it, our marriage would have been over when I thought it was over.
“But I’m pretty sure you can’t file for an annulment by proxy,” she continues. “Unless you’re a lawyer handling the case. And Geno is a lot of things but definitely not a lawyer. It had to be one of the two of you.”
“How do you know this?”
She lifts one shoulder as she merges onto the highway. “I listen to a lot of true-crime podcasts.”
Which—I don’t even want to go down that rabbit hole, not right now.
“It’s just so stupid, Sasha,” I complain, everything that’s been crowding my brain for days finally spilling out. “We had an agreement. I signed the paperwork. Why wouldn’t Jake file it? It doesn’t make any sense.”
She doesn’t say anything. But I know Sasha, and she’s not saying anything really damn loudly.
I groan. “Fine, out with it.”
When she finally does speak, it’s gentler than I expect. “Did you actually have an agreement? Like, did you talk to Jake about it before having your uncle deliver the signed paperwork to him?”
I swallow. “No.”
“Well.” She’s watching the road, but I get the feeling she’s watching me, too, out of the corner of her eye. “Maybe that’s your answer. Maybe he never agreed at all.”
We’re both quiet for a while as Sasha drives us back to Oak Creek Canyon. She turns the radio on to a pop station, and the music plays quietly in the background as I ponder.
Then I do what I always do when I’m overwhelmed.
I make a list in my head.
One: I’m apparently still married to a man who, until recently, I hadn’t seen since a couple of days after our wedding.
Two: I’ve hired my—well, my husband to work on the winery/vineyard I just inherited with my sisters. This means we’ll be seeing each other every day until he moves on.
Three: He’s actually living in my house , which means we will continue to be in each other’s orbit around the clock instead of being able to keep our time strictly professional.
Four: He’s made it clear that he’s still attracted to me, and I…
Five: I’m still attracted to him. Even though the rational side of me is screaming it’s a bad, bad idea.
Six: The rational side of me is losing out to the barely-able-to-keep-from-jumping-his-bones side.
But.
Seven: If we act on our attraction, I don’t know if I’ll be able to survive the heartbreak when he leaves me behind. Again.
I groan and rub my temples. “Can you distract me? I’m getting a nasty headache.”
“Of course.” Sasha launches into a story about one of her more amusing clients, and by the time we roll up to Vineyard Vixen Salon, I’m laughing so hard tears are rolling down my face.
Sasha puts the truck in Park, unbuckles her seat belt, and leans over the console to give me a hug. “I’m here for you, babe,” she whispers into my ear, and the tears turn to something more emotional.
I nod, not trusting my voice, and get out of the truck to switch to the driver’s seat. As we cross on the sidewalk, she leans in again and puts her hand on my shoulder. “It’s gonna be okay. I promise.”
I don’t believe her, but I smile and nod anyway.
She gives me a thumbs-up and turns to go. Then she whips around again.
“What?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Rosa, babe, you’re in big, big trouble.”
“That’s not news,” I shoot back.
“It will be when the IRS figures out you’ve been filing incorrectly for the last decade.” With a cackle, she disappears into the salon.
The IRS…?
Realization hits me.
FUCK.