Chapter 7 #4
David and I come to an unspoken agreement to avoid discussing our night at the hotel further, which suits me just fine, and over the next hour he asks me what feels like a thousand questions about the intricate details of my marriage to Daniel.
It’s surreal, like I’m living through every gory detail of a fully fledged nightmare, yet I’m very much conscious.
On the bright side, I manage to avoid mentioning to David the more abusive elements of my marriage, preferring not to enlighten him on the depths of my patheticness, even if it means I have to blur the lines of truth and paint myself as a spoiled, entitled WAG instead.
The questioning went along the lines of this:
Him: “Why did you drop out of university?”
Me: “My husband was a rising star in the football world, I didn’t need a degree.” Lie.
Him: “Why have you never worked since leaving university?”
Me: “My husband earned millions, I didn’t want to work.” Lie.
Him: “You said you have possession of your engagement and wedding rings. Why?”
Me: “They’re worth lot of money. I wanted to keep them.” Lie.
Him: “You were married for eight years. Why no children?”
Me: “I wasn’t ready to give up my lifestyle.”
I grit my teeth through that lie, but the alternative was talking to David about my fertility. Or lack there of, more specifically. No, thank you.
I could tell he was getting pissed off with my seemingly aloof responses, but I’d rather he think of me as a superficial gold digger than a weak, spineless pushover. Then things took a turn when he asked me if Daniel was aware I had sought legal representation.
“Not quite.”
He looks up at me with narrowed eyes. “What does that mean? It’s a yes or no question, Gianna.”
“No, then.” I pick at my nail polish, internally chastising myself for ruining the manicure I spent all last night perfecting.
“When and where was the last time you saw him?”
“Sunday. At family lunch.”
David is quiet so long that I actually look up to make sure he’s still here.
The look he gives me is so loaded with I don’t even know what that it throws me off kilter for a moment. “He still comes to your family lunch?”
“What! No. Well, not usually. It’s the first time I’d seen him since I left our house six months ago.” We had already covered Daniel’s infidelity, and I guess due to David’s line of work, he didn’t seem surprised in the least.
“And you didn’t think to tell him then about your appointment today?” David’s voice is low and dripping with accusation.
“I don’t know what you’re implying, but the reason I didn’t tell him was because we had an audience and I didn’t want to send my mother to an early grave.” Half a lie.
“Your mother doesn’t want you to divorce?”
“She’s Italian.” I pin him with a pointed glare. “Divorce is worse than death.”
My joke falls flat.
“How is Daniel going to react when he gets served with papers?”
“How do most people react?” I shrug. Times that by one hundred, then set it on fire.
Then there’s the uncomfortable journey David makes into more personal territory, asking questions I wouldn’t think even make a difference to building a divorce case. Surprisingly, it’s these questions he lingers on the most.
“How old were you and Daniel when you first got together?”
“Did you like Daniel for long before you agreed to go out with him?”
“How long did you date before you got married?”
“Did your family accept him straight away?”
I answer his questions with clipped responses, which doesn’t seem to go down well. He only pushes further, until he asks me one question that sends me over the edge.
“Was Daniel your first love?”
He doesn’t look up from his notes, actually he’s barely looked at me at all throughout his questioning, his pen hovering over his pad as he waits for me to respond.
“Is this really relevant?” I snip, not enjoying the trip down memory lane he’s taken me on this afternoon.
He’s making me think about things I haven’t allowed myself to think about in years.
Ten, to be exact. I understand now how he’s so good at his job; he leaves no dusty, crumbling, moss-covered stone unturned.
“It’s very relevant. Please answer the question.”
I sigh, but answer through clenched teeth. “No. He wasn’t.”
David’s pen freezes in midair, the scratch of his writing noticeably absent in the now silent office.
“Who has that honour?” The way he says it, still avoiding my gaze, makes it sound like it wasn’t an honour at all. The fucking nerve on this guy.
“None of your business. It has absolutely nothing to do with my marriage to Daniel.”
Before he can object, I take it upon myself to shut down that line of questioning for good after finally having enough. I don’t talk about that time in my life. Ever.
“Look, I’m not asking for the world. I don’t even want half of Daniel’s wealth. All I want is the apartment. He at least owes me that!”
I slam my palms down onto David’s desk and stand, ready to leave for real this time.
David tosses his pen onto his pad and leans back in his chair, finally lifting his dark gaze to mine. “Interesting,” he drawls.
“What is?” I huff, annoyed that my eyes instantly trace along his sharp jawline and land on his full, oh so kissable lips. This infuriatingly beautiful man.
“That you’ve spent the last hour telling me how you’ve lived an indulgent lifestyle off your extravagant funds, yet you now refer to the accumulated wealth as Daniel’s, not mine or ours.”
He steeples his hands in front of his chest and pins me with his gaze, making me shift on my feet. “I also note that by your own statement you confess that you have lived a life of complete frivolity, yet now you think Daniel owes you. I wonder what for?”
The intelligent bastard. He cocks a brow and watches me, and I try to morph the shock I know is written plain as day on my face into a blank mask to rival his own. He’s unravelled my whole story off of one outburst.
“I’m done answering questions. If you’re so damn good at your job, then getting my apartment shouldn’t be a problem.”
I stand and turn to leave, ignoring the mix of triumph and intrigue I can feel in his gaze as it roams over my face. Suddenly, removing myself from this office and this man’s vicinity is my number one priority. He responds just before I heave open his door.
“I’ll do one better than that, Gianna. I’ll give you it all.”