Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 134746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
She pulls away and drifts to her seat, settling in next to Deb.
I claim a place in the row behind her, making sure to stay as close as I can.
Marissa looks so smug I wonder if she’s drunk again.
An ugly thought inside me says she didn’t deserve the kindness August showed her that night he helped her home. But even I can’t help but hurt for her too.
This crusade of hers is horribly misguided. I know she’s trying to take from Clara to make up for what she’s lost.
Pain makes us do crazy things.
Sometimes it makes us merciless.
“All present, Your Honor,” the lawyer on our side says.
The judge bangs his gavel once, quick and perfunctory.
“Calling to order, Judge Harris presiding. We’re here for the case of Sullivan v. Marshall, regarding intellectual property rights for creative copyright over a series of children’s book characters and all associated trademarked merchandise, branding, and properties.” He frowns at the pages. “It looks like you’ve reached an agreement regarding a settlement. That means we can dismiss this case in favor of the plaintiff, with the defendant surrendering all rights voluntarily. So, why are we here again?”
Marissa opens her mouth, but she doesn’t get to finish.
The courtroom door slams open.
“Because,” August says, his voice projecting authority and determination, all dark fire. He steps inside with a slim older woman behind him, still pretty with her long greying red hair in a braid and a matching grey dress. “The defendant’s confession was forced under duress, and the entire premise of this case is a lie.”
XXVI
STRUCK BY LIGHTNING
(AUGUST)
I’ve never made a bigger mess from just walking into a room.
The moment I enter, the entire courtroom erupts into chaos.
“Objection!” shouts one of Marissa’s lawyers, flying to his feet.
Marissa stands, too, cupping her hands over her mouth as she screams, “What the fuck, asshole?”
Aunt Clara pops up next.
“Yvette?!” she cries.
And promptly starts to faint, with Deb struggling to catch her.
“Clara!” Yvette screams.
And so does—
Elle?
Why is Elle here?
Bright as a new-bloomed flower, her blonde hair flying behind her as she rushes around the wooden barrier and drops to Aunt Clara’s side. She sinks down in a crouch with Deb as they both help Clara up.
She’s already coming to, shaking off her daze, her eyes blinking open.
Marissa whirls on us.
Yvette had started to rush forward, but now she freezes as Marissa points a stern finger at her.
“What’s she doing here? Get her out of here!”
“If everyone would kindly shut up,” the judge demands, his voice booming as he slams his gavel several times. He throws me a fierce look over his glasses. “Sir, this is a private case. Unless you have business here, you’re asking for contempt of court—”
“I’m sorry for barging in late,” I cut in. “I have a quarter share in Little Key. My name is August Marshall, acting CEO. Clara Marshall is my aunt. This case pertains to me as well. And this”—I gently nudge a shy, faltering Yvette forward—“is the plaintiff’s mother, Yvette Sullivan. Also, Clara’s long-separated lover.”
Everyone in the room gasps except Clara and Yvette.
They just stare at each other in disbelief.
They watch each other the same way I can’t help but look at Elle.
Like they’ve been blind all this time, but now they can finally see, and their first restored vision is the glory of lost love.
Everything they’ve craved through the darkness for all this time.
It’s definitely a moment.
Intense and heart wrenching and beautiful to see.
Clara can’t take her eyes off Yvette, even while Elle and Deb help her up on shaky feet, her lips mouthing, Yvette, Yvette, Yvette . . .
Elle looks up then.
Her eyes meet mine, that soft hazel gold—my tiger kitten, my jewel, my insane bright summer flower.
Yes, I know.
I fucking know I’m just staring at her like I’ve been lobotomized, while she’s looking back at me with such confusion and hurt in her eyes and something else.
Longing.
Hand to God, I’ll make this right.
But first, I have to correct another massive mistake.
I jerk my attention back to the judge as he lets out an exasperated sigh. “Mr. Marshall, while this is an entertaining soap opera, how does this pertain to the case? Make it brief, or get the hell out of my courtroom.”
“Your Honor, the entire case is predicated on a lie Marissa Sullivan was led to believe to salvage a dead man’s pride,” I say. A little dramatic, yes, but it’s true. “Surrendering these rights is a grave miscarriage of justice. If you’ll allow Yvette Sullivan to take the stand, she can tell you that this case is false—and provide proof.”
“Mom, don’t you dare!” Marissa hisses. “That woman is my mother in blood only. She cheated on my father!”
“No,” Yvette says, shaking her head. “I never cheated, love. I would never do that to you. Not even to Lester. But I admit, I didn’t love him. He wasn’t the man he led you to believe he was. It’s true I loved someone else while we were married . . . but we never did anything about it. For your sake.”