Chapter 19 #2
Mira’s mouth has fallen open. Her lawyer is frantically whispering to her.
I school my features into what I hope is a reasonable facsimile of a man whose secret marriage has just been revealed, rather than a man who’s hearing about it for the first time himself.
But honestly. What. The. Fuck. I have no idea how I’m supposed to look right now.
Are my eyebrows touching my hairline? Is my mouth open?
Am I breathing? Shit. I think I’m gonna lose it.
“As Mr. Kirillov’s wife,” Jenna continues, her thumb brushing over the plastic ring in a gesture that looks intimate to anyone watching, “I will be caring for Livy when Colton has away games or if he needs to visit his mother. We’ve already established a family routine that Livy has responded to beautifully. ”
This last part isn’t entirely a lie. Livy does light up around Jenna, has since the first day they met. But the rest—I struggle to keep my expression neutral as Jenna spins our fictional marriage into existence.
“This is highly irregular,” Mira’s lawyer stutters. “We’ve had no notification of this... development. No documentation has been provided. This—this is—”
“We had planned to inform the court at an appropriate time—relationships are, after all—a private matter,” Jenna says way too smoothly.
“But since opposing counsel seems so invested in dissecting my client’s personal life, I thought it might be helpful to share now.
Especially since our relationship was exposed online a while ago. ”
The judge is watching us carefully, his dark brown eyes moving between our faces, our joined hands, the ring.
I want to yelp. Do six foot five tall men yelp?
“Ms. Davis—or should I say Mrs. Kirillov 2.0?” the judge asks.
“Davis professionally, Kirillov personally,” Jenna replies without missing a beat. Fucking fuck. She didn’t lie about watching a lot of movies. This sounds like a Hallmark flick.
“It certainly changes the landscape of our considerations,” judge Brennan says finally. “However, I’ll need this marriage verified, and Child Protective Services will need to conduct a new home evaluation with both of you present. We need a new statement from the child as well.”
“Of course, Your Honor,” Jenna agrees.
“I will need all documentation,” he adds, with a hint of superstition.
“As expected, I will send them over,” Jenna says, her confidence sending a shiver down my spine. Where on earth will she find those documents? Is she going insane? She can’t seriously be lying in court like this.
Unlike me, Mira has recovered from her shock and is now whispering furiously to her lawyer, her face flushed with anger. I know that look—it’s the same one she wore when I questioned her about leaving Livy alone. She’s boiling.
“In light of this new information,” the judge continues.
“I’m ordering Child Protective Services to conduct a thorough evaluation of the child’s living situation with both Mr. and.
.. Mrs. Davis-Kirillov present. They will observe and interview Olivia again to assess her comfort in this new family dynamic. ”
He checks his calendar. “We’ll reconvene in… four weeks for a follow-up hearing. Until then, the current custody arrangement remains in place, with Mrs. Kirillov… the first?” He clears his throat. “This is getting complicated… with Olivia’s mother having visitation rights until further notice.”
Damn. So, my ex-wife can visit Olivia whenever she pleases?
I glance up at Jenna, silently questioning how we’re supposed to keep up this whole charade. But she’s not looking at me. A slight tremor in her hands tells me that this lie wasn’t easy for her though. She’s fucking nervous.
As people begin to rise and gather their things, Mira storms toward us, Goldblatt trailing behind trying to calm her.
“What kind of stunt is this?” she hisses, keeping her voice low enough that the judge can’t hear as he packs up his bench while shaking his head as if this shit show is too much for him.
Jenna steps slightly and leans in, creating a barrier between Mira and me.
“Not a stunt. Just facts that affect the welfare of your daughter,” Jenna says, her professional smile firmly in place. “We should go, darling. Olivia is waiting.”
Mira’s face contorts with rage, but her lawyer places a restraining hand on her arm, murmuring something about “don’t” and about “reporters outside.” With a last venomous glance, she finally allows herself to be led away, already pulling out her phone—probably to start damage control on her carefully curated social media presence.
She’s got a whole fan club there that hates me on behalf of her.
I turn to Jenna, a thousand questions fighting for priority.
“Not here,” she murmurs. “Let’s get Livy and go home. Then we’ll talk.”
Home. As if we share one. As if any of what just happened was real.
But as we walk out of the courtroom, her hand still firmly holding mine for the benefit of anyone watching, I realize that whatever game we’re now playing, it’s one with rules I don’t fully understand. But no matter what, I have to comply. There’s no point of return anymore.
“Will Jenna stay for dinner?” Livy asks once we got home.
The ride was awkward.
Really awkward and my head has been spinning since Jenna dropped the bomb.
I ignored my phone, knowing it probably exploded with calls, messages, social media shit. I feel Jenna’s gaze burning at me, but I ignore it for now. There’s panic? Or resignation? Well, Mrs. Kirillov the second, we can’t take your brilliant idea back, can we?
“I think Jenna and I need to talk about some grown-up things first,” I say carefully.
“About the case?” Livy asks, and my heart clenches. No six-year-old should be this familiar with legal terminology.
“Something like that,” I answer and get her set up in her room with her favorite stuffed animals and a movie on the iPad—a parenting shortcut I’m not proud of but it’s necessary right now.
“Twenty minutes,” I tell her, kissing the top of her head.
“Okay, Daddy.” She’s already engrossed in the animated bears on the screen, and we both know she has no clue how long twenty minutes are.
When I return to my open-plan living area, Jenna is standing by the glass curtain wall, looking out at the city below. She’s removed her suit jacket, and without it she seems smaller somehow, less armored.
“So,” I say, closing the space between us. “You finally want to tell me what the fuck that was about?”
Jenna turns, her arms crossed defensively over her chest. “I know it was extreme—”
“Extreme?” I cut her off, keeping my voice low enough that Livy won’t hear. “You told a judge we’re fucking married. This isn’t extreme, Jenna. This is crazy.”
She throws her hands up in the air, the professional facade crumbling completely. “I know. I know it is. But you saw what was happening in there. They were winning.”
I pace the space between the kitchen island and my couch, running a hand through my buzzcut, wishing for once there was hair I could pull at. “And your solution was to commit perjury?”
“Technically, I never said we were legally married. I said we were ‘recently married.’ The interpretation was theirs.” She looks up at me. “But yes, that’s a thin defense at best.”
I stop pacing and face her. “But why? Why would you risk your career like that? Just days ago, you panicked because you texted me… this doesn’t add up.”
Something shifts in her expression, a vulnerability I haven’t seen before.
“Because she was trying to make dinner with a knife, Colton. A six-year-old handled a sharp knife because no one was there to feed her.” Her voice cracks slightly.
“And all your ex cares about is how it affects her social media schedule. I kind of… lost it. The case got too personal, I guess… I—I panicked! I was scared we… you might lose her and I just couldn’t let that happen.
This was the only way I thought would work. ”
The raw honesty in her voice knocks the anger out of me. I sink onto the white counter stool across from her.
“Okay,” I say, exhaling slowly. “Ooookay.”
There’s not more I can say. We’re married. We lied in court. I didn’t correct her. I’m complicit. I could lose Livy. Fuck. Fucking fuck.
“You said it would work,” I say, calm, but I’m anything but calm.
“It… did?” Her voice is thin, and I can’t even look at her face right now. I knew we were kind of losing but this is… this is wild…
“So now we’re married?”
“Well… we need documentation,” she says. “Something that shows we were married before this hearing. Not long before—that would seem too convenient—but recently enough that it explains why it hasn’t come up yet.” She’s twisting the plastic ring on her finger.
“How do we do that? I’m guessing you don’t have a time machine hidden in that briefcase of yours?”
She almost smiles. “No time machine. But we need someone who can create documents that would pass a cursory inspection. Nothing that would hold up to serious scrutiny—we’re not trying to defraud the government—but enough to convince Mira’s lawyer and the judge that we didn’t just make this up on the spot. ”
“And where do we find someone like that?” I ask.
“And that’s where I’m not sure what to do,” she says, hiding her face in her hands. “Fuck, I messed it all up. I’m sorry…”
My phone won’t stop buzzing so I decide to switch it off but once I take it out, I see Ethan called six times.
He’s Riley’s PR manager but became something like the assistant director of player relations for the whole team.
He’s our fixer. Of course. I think he could help…
It’s worth asking. He’s discreet, if nothing else. And he owes me a favor.
“Colton? I’m sorry, okay…” I hear her in the background and realize she must have called my name several times now.
“Sorry, I… I think I have an idea. Someone who could help us…”
Jenna raises an eyebrow. “Then call him. We’re running out of time.”