I gave him all my best advice as to how to set up a marriage for success and how to avoid divorce, or at least a nasty divorce.
But Jude seemed to be more focused on the prenup than anything else, and he laughed at the idea of going to therapy when they were quote-unquote happy.
I can’t believe I’m about to defend Stassi, but here I go …
“See, that’s the problem with you, Jude—you’re always looking out for number one and in the end it gets you in trouble every. Single. Time,” I say. “Not only that, but you’re afraid to be alone. You wrap your entire identity in your relationships—relationships that you’re willing to chuck out the window the second there’s a hairline fracture in the foundation. You’ve got to quit while you’re ahead. Go home, apologize to her, grovel on your hands and knees, and make sure she knows you’re committed.”
He takes another drink of beer, his eyes hazy and unfocused. I can’t tell if he’s wallowing in self-pity or digesting the advice I just shelled out.
“If I was getting married in a month and my fiancée was googling her ex-boyfriend from college, I’d be having second thoughts too,” I say. “Look at it from her perspective.”
Jude buries his head in his hands, breathing hard through his fingers.
He knows I’m right.
“You can crash here tonight,” I say. “You both probably need time to cool off. Guest bed’s made up. It’s all yours. But first thing tomorrow, you go home and you make it right with Stassi. Be the man I know you can be.”
Or rather … the man he should be.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Jovie
* * *
“So it appears that your ex has found himself new representation,” my new attorney says Tuesday. Opening a file folder, he produces a stack of white papers. “And this is what he’s proposing.” He slides them to me. “This is your copy. Now feel free to take that home and go over everything, but I will say, I’m familiar with his attorney, and her bark is far worse than her bite. I’ve had a chance to comb through this already and I’ll say it’s pretty reasonable. If I had to guess, I’m willing to bet he’s talked to enough lawyers to have a little bit of sense knocked into him.”
I page through the papers, but my nerves get the best of me and all the words jumble together. I’ll have to read this when I’m at home. Every time someone passes the window outside Mike’s office, I get a little flutter in my chest at the off-chance that it’s Stone.
“He’s still asking for spousal support, but given the brief nature of your marriage and the fact that the two of you were renting a modest apartment by your income’s standards, there’s no judge with half a brain cell that’s going to go for what he’s asking. He’ll be lucky if he gets anything at all, in my opinion,” Mike says.
I exhale, my thoughts a little less dizzying than they were a moment ago.
“That’s a relief,” I say. “I’m still kicking myself for not signing a prenup. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“It’s hard to think when you’re in love,” he says, softening his words the way my father always does when he’s giving difficult advice. “No one wants to take off the rose-colored glasses until they have to. You were in love, you married for love, and that’s okay. You weren’t the first and you certainly won’t be the last. Anyway, go over everything, shoot me an email if you have questions, and we’ll go from there.”
I thank Mike before gathering the documents, and then I show myself out, only on the way out, I make a wrong turn and end up in some unfamiliar corner of the building. Nothing but office after office, all of them with identical cherrywood furniture, executive-blue carpet, and sweeping views of the parking garage.
“Can I help you?” A woman’s voice calls. I turn around to find a somewhat familiar face peering down her nose at me. It only takes a second for me to recognize her from the last time I was in Stone’s office.
“I’m just looking for a way out of here,” I say with a nervous chuckle.
Her gaze drips from the top of my head to my shoes before she huffs a response.
“Take a right at the end of this hall, then go through the third door on your left,” she says. “Past the reception area, you’ll find the elevator bay.”
I barely have time to thank her before she spins on her heel and leaves, her hips swaying with each long-legged stride.
Heading down the hall, I turn right when I get to the end—only to be met with another hallway with identical offices. Only these offices are missing computers. And human life. And all of the lights are turned off.