Chapter Twenty-Nine
Cate
Don’t talk.
Just don’t talk.
Sit quietly. Look supportive. Be the perfect wife.
You can do this.
You HAVE to do this.
I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror, giving myself what had to be the thousandth pep talk of the morning.
The woman staring back at me looked... subdued. Professional. Like someone who had never told a social worker about her recurring ninja dreams or compared a custody battle to a soufflé.
Gabriel had helped me pick out an outfit last night, a navy-blue dress that hit just below my knees, conservative but not frumpy. Pearl earrings that had belonged to my grandmother. My hair pulled back in a low bun, not a single strand out of place.
I looked like someone who had their life together.
Fake it till you make it, right?
Except you’re already faking a marriage, so really you’re faking-faking it, which is... confusing.
Stop. Focus.
“Cate?” Gabriel’s voice came from the bedroom. “We need to leave in ten minutes.”
“Coming!”
I took one last look in the mirror, smoothing down the dress even though it didn’t need smoothing.
You will not ramble. You will not spiral. You will sit quietly and let Anthony do his job. You will be calm, collected, and completely silent.
Silent as the grave.
Okay, that’s morbid. Stop thinking about graves.
Just... don’t talk.
I walked into the bedroom where Gabriel was adjusting his tie in front of the dresser mirror. He was wearing a charcoal suit that made him look like he’d stepped out of a magazine spread titled “Surgeons Who Could Also Model.”
Focus, Cate. This is not the time to think about how good he looks in a suit. Or how good he looks out of a suit.
STOP.
He turned when he heard me, his eyes doing a quick sweep from my face to my shoes and back again.
“You look perfect,” he said quietly.
“I look terrified.”
“That too.” His mouth curved slightly. “But perfect.”
He crossed to me, his hands settling on my shoulders. “Cate. Listen to me.”
I looked up at him, trying to ignore the way my heart was trying to escape through my ribcage.
“Anthony knows what he’s doing,” Gabriel continued. “All you have to do is sit there and look like you love Megan. Which you do. So just... be yourself.”
Be myself. The self that told a social worker about my ninja dream. The self that stress-bakes until the kitchen looks like a flour bomb exploded. The self that can’t stop talking when I’m nervous.
That self?
“Maybe a slightly quieter version of myself,” I said.
His hands squeezed gently. “You’re going to be fine.”
“What if I’m not? What if I say something stupid? What if I—”
“Cate.” His voice was firm. “Breathe.”
I breathed.
“We’re going to walk in there,” he said. “We’re going to sit down. Anthony is going to present our case. And we’re going to show them we’re a family. That’s all.”
That’s all. Just convince a judge that our fake marriage is real and that I’m not a disaster of a human being. Piece of cake.
Mmm, cake.
Stop thinking about cake.
“Okay,” I said. “Okay. I can do this.”
“You can do this.”
He pressed a kiss to my forehead, and for a moment, I let myself lean into him, drawing strength from his steadiness.
We can do this.
We have to.
The courthouse was exactly as intimidating as I’d imagined.
All marble and wood paneling, and the kind of echoing silence that made you feel like you should whisper, even though no one had told you to.
Anthony Gallagher was waiting for us in the hallway outside the courtroom, looking like he’d been born in a three-piece suit. His motorcycle helmet was nowhere in sight, but somehow I could still picture him on that Harley, all controlled power and barely contained danger.
“Gabriel. Cate.” He shook our hands, his grip firm and confident. “You both look good. Calm. That’s what we want.”
Calm.
Right.
I’m the picture of calm.
I’m so calm I might actually be catatonic.
“Remember what we discussed,” Anthony continued, his eyes on me. “Short answers. Don’t elaborate unless asked. And if Richard tries to rattle you—”
“He will,” Gabriel interjected.
“—when Richard tries to rattle you,” Anthony corrected smoothly, “stay focused. Answer the question. Nothing more.”
Answer the question. Nothing more.
I can do that.
I’m great at not talking.
I’m basically a mime.
A very anxious mime.
“Cate.” Anthony’s voice cut through my spiral. “You’re going to be fine. Just remember, they’re trying to paint Gabriel as an unfit father who rushed into a marriage for custody purposes. Our job is to show them a real family. A real marriage. Real love.”
Real love.
Is it real?
It feels real.
“Cate.” Gabriel’s hand found mine, squeezing. “With me?”
I looked up at him, at the steadiness in his eyes, and nodded.
“With you.”
The courtroom was smaller than I’d expected.
Not like the dramatic TV courtrooms with soaring ceilings and packed galleries. This was intimate. Almost claustrophobic. The judge’s bench dominated the front of the room, dark wood and imposing. The witness stand was positioned to the right, looking like the loneliest chair in the world.
Please don’t make me sit in that chair.
Please, please, please!
Tonya and Richard were already seated at the plaintiff’s table.
Tonya looked... different. Her hair was pulled back severely, her makeup minimal.
She was wearing a cream-colored suit that screamed “responsible mother” and probably cost more than my entire wardrobe.
Richard sat beside her, his expression sharp and predatory.
He was flipping through a file, making notes, looking every inch the aggressive attorney ready to destroy us.
This is fine.
Everything is fine.
I’m not going to throw up.
Probably.
We took our seats at the defense table—defense, like we’re the ones on trial, which I guess we are—and I tried to arrange my face into something that looked calm and supportive.
Gabriel’s hand found mine under the table, his thumb tracing circles on my palm.
Breathe. Just breathe.
The bailiff stood. “All rise. The Honorable Judge Elaine Winters presiding.”
We stood.
Judge Winters entered. A woman in her sixties with steel-gray hair and the kind of face that suggested she’d seen everything and wasn’t impressed by any of it. She settled into her seat, surveyed the room with sharp eyes, and picked up her gavel.
This is it.
This is really happening.
“Please be seated.” Her voice was crisp, authoritative. “We’re here today for the custody hearing in the matter of Castalleno versus Lyon. Counsel, are you ready to proceed?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Anthony said, standing.
“Yes, Your Honor,” Richard echoed, his smile sharp.
Here we go.
Anthony was brilliant.
I’d known he was good, but watching him work was like watching a surgeon.
Every word was precise. Every argument calculated.
He presented Gabriel’s case methodically: his career, his dedication to Megan, his stable home environment.
He called character witnesses—Fitz, who managed to be both professional and charming, talking about Gabriel’s commitment to his patients and his daughter.
Nathan testified about Gabriel’s reliability and his integrity.
Even Hayden took the stand, describing the supportive environment at the clinic, the way Gabriel balanced his demanding career with his responsibilities as a father.
Through it all, I sat quietly, my hands folded in my lap, trying to look like the perfect supportive wife.
Don’t talk. Don’t move. Don’t do anything that could be used against us.
Then Ms. Carmella Rodriguez took the stand.
My stomach dropped.
Oh God.
She’s going to tell them about the ninja dream. She’s going to tell them about the chaos. She’s going to tell them I’m a disaster.
But she didn’t.
“Ms. Rodriguez,” Anthony said, standing. “You conducted a home visit at the Lyon residence, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“And what were your findings?”
She consulted her notes. “The home was clean, well-maintained, and appropriate for a child. Megan’s room was age-appropriate and clearly decorated with care. The kitchen was well-stocked with nutritious food options.”
She’s not mentioning the glitter.
Or the teepee.
Or the fact that we were clearly panicking.
“And your assessment of the family dynamic?”
“Megan is clearly well-cared for and loved. Both Dr. Lyon and Mrs. Lyon demonstrated appropriate concern for her well-being. Mrs. Lyon, in particular, showed a strong emotional bond with the child.”
She’s... she’s saying nice things.
She’s actually saying nice things.
I felt Gabriel’s hand tighten on mine.
“Thank you, Ms. Rodriguez,” Anthony said, returning to his seat.
Richard stood. “Ms. Rodriguez, during your visit, did you notice anything... unusual about the household?”
Here it comes.
“Could you be more specific?” Ms. Rodriguez asked.
“Well, for instance, did Mrs. Lyon seem anxious? Nervous? Perhaps overly talkative?”
Oh God.
He knows.
He knows I told her about the ninja dream.
Ms. Rodriguez’s expression didn’t change. “Mrs. Lyon was understandably nervous about the home visit. That’s a normal reaction. Many people are anxious when Child Services comes to their home.”
“But would you say her level of anxiety was... excessive?”
“I would say it was within normal parameters for the situation.”
She’s protecting us.
She’s actually protecting us.
Richard looked frustrated. “No further questions.”
Ms. Rodriguez stepped down, and I felt like I could breathe again.
Maybe we’re okay.
Maybe this is going to be okay.
Then Richard stood again.
“Your Honor, I’d like to call Catherine Lyon to the stand.”
What? No, no, no, no, no.
Please, God, no!
I felt Gabriel go rigid beside me.
Anthony’s jaw tightened. “Your Honor—”
“Mrs. Lyon is a party to this case,” Richard said smoothly. “I have the right to question her.”
Judge Winters looked at me, then at Richard. “Proceed. But keep it relevant, counselor.”
“Of course, Your Honor.”
I stood on legs that felt like they’d been replaced with jelly.
Don’t fall.
Don’t trip.