Chapter 25
June 1, 2024
Riley. Don’t ignore me. We need to sort out this flat issue.
I stare down at the text Tristan has just sent me.
I knew it was coming. But still. I’m pissed. And mystified. And unnerved for what is about to take place tonight.
Instead of texting back, I make myself take a long, slow breath when I sit up in bed. I close my eyes and do it again.
“Doing some yoga breathing to kick off the morning?”
When I open my eyes, the sight of shirtless Milo walking toward me with a steaming mug of tea in his hand eases me the slightest bit. The muscles in my shoulders loosen.
“Thanks,” I say when he hands me the cup.
He sits on the edge of the bed, and I show him the text. The sleepy smile on his face morphs into a pissed-off frown.
“That fucking guy,” he mutters.
“Yeah.”
“I thought you had this all sorted out?” Milo rests his elbow on his knee. “It was stipulated in your divorce settlement. You got the flat and the car. He got to keep one hundred percent ownership of his restaurants and his retirement accounts. You split the savings accounts. It’s all settled. Lara made sure of all of it when I asked her to represent you. She said the settlement she got for you was ironclad.”
I pause. The name Lara is familiar. It takes a second before I remember it from when I skimmed my divorce paperwork. She was my attorney. And a friend of Milo’s too, I think. I soften at the thought that he went out of his way to make sure that I had a stellar lawyer to help me divorce Tristan.
But then I remind myself who I was married to—Tristan Chase, son of Portia Chase. This flat was his—it was his family’s originally, which meant that it was his mother’s too. And all this is happening before I ran into Portia in Portugal, before I saw her with her lover, before she displayed that fleeting moment of vulnerability, spoke to me candidly, and conceded the Chase family flat to me.
I’m guessing that Portia likely ignored our divorce settlement and pressed him to badger me into giving back the flat.
I sigh, my head spinning trying to keep it all straight.
“Tristan won’t go down without a fight. You know that,” I say to Milo. In the days before today, I pored over the divorce paperwork. It helped me feel calm about this evening, about what is about to go down.
Legally I’m protected. Legally there’s nothing Tristan or his family can do to take this flat from me. That doesn’t mean they won’t try, though.
“But none of that matters,” I say softly, staring down at the mug of tea. “I’m the American whore who stole their beloved family flat. They’ll try everything in their power to take it back.”
“Hey.” Milo’s hand lands gently on my arm. “Don’t say that about yourself.”
“I’m not.” I shrug. “It’s what they say about me behind closed doors.”
Milo’s brow furrows deeper.
“Come on, Milo. Don’t pretend like you haven’t heard them say it. Yeah, they never said it to my face, but I know deep down that’s what Tristan’s parents and grandparents think about me. I was never good enough for them. Because of how I look, because I’m mixed-race, because of what I do for a living.”
“Riley.” Milo closes his eyes, his hand still on my arm, his skin hot on mine. “Fuck them. Seriously.”
I jolt back, my shoulder blades bumping the padded headboard. I’m used to him swearing in reference to Tristan. But not his grandparents.
“I know you don’t like Tristan. And I know you’ve never been a fan of Portia or Weston,” I say. “But you don’t have to curse your grandparents just for my sake.”
He shakes his head. “That’s not why I said that.” His toned chest heaves as he inhales. “Look, I love my grandparents, but it’s no secret they’re insufferable. They hold some pretty offensive views. They don’t like foreigners. Or Americans.”
“But they love you.”
“Because my dad is their oldest son and I’m their grandson. Because I’m charming and funny and thoughtful. Because I always call them on their birthdays and anniversaries. Because I always remember that my gran loves roses and always make sure to bring her some whenever I visit her.” He shakes his head, his brow furrowed, like he’s conflicted by whatever he feels right now.
“That’s okay, Milo. You don’t have to feel guilty for your grandparents loving you. Even problematic people make exceptions for the people they care about. You’re their grandson—of course they would accept you while disliking me. I’m not their blood.”
“That doesn’t make it okay.”
He bites down, the muscles in his stubbled jaw bulging. “They love me because my dad’s their white British son. They’ve warmed up to my mom over the years, but they didn’t like her at first because she’s Portuguese and American. I know it’s some seriously hypocritical shit, and I’ve overlooked it because they’re my family ... but they don’t get to treat you like shit anymore now that we’re together.”
He goes quiet, and I take in the look in his eyes as he gazes out the nearby window. Fiery and embattled, like he’s fighting inside himself and not quite sure what he wants to say or do.
“This flat is yours, Riley. Tristan has no right to try to talk you into giving it to him.”
I shrug. “You’re right. He doesn’t. But I know him. He’s not going to give up until I meet him and tell him to his face to back off.”
“I can come with you tonight. For moral support.”
I smile at him, heartened at his offer. “I can handle it. Thanks, though.”
Milo purses his lips like he’s swallowing back the words he’s aching to speak. But he stays quiet and just nods.
A few seconds later he stands up. The hard expression on his face eases. “Come on. You need breakfast.”
“In a sec. Gotta pee first.”
He walks off to the kitchen, and I pad to the bathroom. After I finish, I type out a reply to Tristan.
Me: Fine. Tell me where to meet you so we can talk.
Tristan: Last One Standing at 6. I assume you remember where that is or has my cousin manipulated you into forgetting that too?
What feels like a sting works its way across my skin. I don’t expect warm and fuzzy and romantic Tristan, of course, but it still blows me away that this man I loved, this man who was my partner for more than three years, is capable of being so dismissive, so mean.
Me: Don’t be a jerk. I remember.
I drop my phone on the bed and try not to think about tonight.