Malaki
Nope. That message is just for you, Dimples.
I glance at the TV, and Malaki’s name is announced. The camera suddenly pans to him taking the ice.
I click my phone screen off and suck on another Skittle to keep myself from floating.
It's at this moment that I finally understand the termlovesick.
The thought of Malaki loving me is terrifying and wonderful all the same. I want to argue that he doesn’t, but I’m desperate to believe he does.
As if this strange, unexpected thing between us that started on a whim could turn into something more.
My phone goes off again.
I race to see what else he has to say, completely blindsided by my messy thoughts to remember he’s on the ice.
Benedict
Since you don’t check your email, I thought I’d give you a heads up that the mediation is moved to tomorrow at two. Wouldn’t want you to miss it, and then we find ourselves in a courtroom.
And just like that, reality is back.
I haven’t eaten all day.
I’ve done nothing but read between the lines of every message from Benedict over the last week since I was served with papers for this mediation.
Benedict
I didn’t do this to be malicious, Reese.
There is no hidden agenda.
I came to terms with the fact that you are marrying another man, so there is no use in trying to get our family back together. Thus why I moved forward with a mediation.
Would you rather go to court and hash this out in front of a judge? We can do that, if you prefer.
You’ll need a lawyer for that. In case you’re not up to speed on the process.
Of course I’m up to speed on the process.
Benedict has made it very clear in the past that he believes he’s smarter than I am, given where I grew up and where I got my education from. I dropped out of college—something he likes to remind me of—whereas he graduated with honors and now owns a multimillion-dollar company.
It was handed down to him by his father, but he likes to leave that part out.
His reassuring texts hold the weight of a feather as I wait for the mediation to start.
“Ms. Moreno?”
My heels click to the shiny marble floor as I stand from the bench.
I smile at the woman, who I assume is the mediator. “Hi.” I reach my hand out to shake hers and move toward the room. “I’m so sorry,” I say, glancing down the empty hall of the courthouse. “I’m not sure where Benedict is–”
Shock fills me as I step into the room.
“Hello, sweetheart.”
My limbs grow heavy, and my heels stop clicking against the floor.
