"Anonymous sources aren't admissible." I lean forward, maintaining eye contact. "What tangible evidence do you actually have?"
He flounders, grasping at straws. "The timing?—"
"We're in a committed relationship. Not disputed."
"You facilitated fraud—there is no evidence that you two were in a relationship before the reading of the Will."
"Precisely," I stand. "You have no evidence we were in a relationship. So kindly show me the evidence that we were not in a relationship." I walk around my desk. "
The silence that follows is answer enough. He can't prove it because he has none, and any that may have been no longer exist. All current evidence points to two people genuinely in love.
Judith appears in my doorway, her timing impeccable as always. "What's this about an article?"
Whitmore whirls toward her like a drowning man reaching for a lifeline. "Ms. Morrison! Their relationship is fraudulent!"
Judith's gaze travels from me to Emmy, then settles on Whitmore with the assessment of someone who's spent decades reading people. "I've watched them together for weeks. If they're acting, they deserve Oscars."
She steps into the room, commanding attention without raising her voice. "I'm prepared to testify to the authenticity of their relationship. In fact, I'll be handling the Blake estate matters from here on out. Adrian will recuse himself to avoid any appearance of impropriety, but make no mistake—the relationship requirement has been met. I've witnessed it personally. And I'll state that under oath."
Whitmore's face falls as the reality of his defeat sinks in. He leaves without another word, the door closes behind him with a quiet click that sounds like victory.
I exhale tension I didn't realize I was holding, and Emmy leans against my desk as we both process what just happened.
"Adrian, that was..."
"Something."
We laugh together, the relief palpable between us.
Judith remains in the doorway, a knowing smile on her face. "Congratulations. Both of you." She smiles and leaves us alone, closing the door with the same quiet finality.
Emmy sits fully on my desk now, legs dangling, vulnerability replacing the confidence she wore during Whitmore's confrontation. "I'm terrified too, you know."
I look up from where I'd been straightening papers I don't need to straighten. "Of what?"
"What if we don't work? We've seen each other at our worst, our most guarded selves. What if it's not enough?"
I move to stand between her knees, framing her face with my hands the way I've done a dozen times before, but somehow it feels new each time. "That's exactly why it will work. We've already passed the hardest part—being honest about our fears. Plus, we have weeks of practice dating under our belts. We're actually pretty good at it."
Her laugh comes through tears. "I have conditions, though. No more contracts. No predetermined end dates. We figure it out as we go, like normal people."
"Agreed." The relief in her eyes mirrors what I'm feeling in my chest. "One condition from me," I add, unable to resist. "You have to keep making me read romance novels. I've learned they're basically instruction manuals for emotionally stunted lawyers."
She laughs, "actually, for emotionally stunted males in general," and pulls me down for a kiss that tastes like home.
When we break apart, she reaches into her purse and extracts a folded piece of paper. "I found something yesterday in Violet's copy of Persuasion."
My hands aren't quite steady as I unfold it and read aloud: "Love is a risk, but so is every great story. Emerson will understand this someday. P.S. - If you're reading this, darling girl, it means my plan worked. Adrian is perfect for you. Stop fighting it."
The words settle between us like the missing piece of a puzzle we didn't know we were solving.
Well, damn.'Stop fighting it'... "She knew, my, my, well, I'll be fucked," I look up from the note to find Emmy's eyes bright with unshed tears. "And I was..."
Emmy's not sure if she wants to laugh or cry. She slaps a hand playfully onto my chest. "Ha. Ha. My stiff-collared lawyer is cracking jokes now." Emmy lifts the coffee cup but stops before taking a sip. "She set us up. That impossible clause wasn't about control—it was about pushing me toward someone who would challenge me, someone worth the risk."
"She told me to look after you." I think back to those library conversations. "I thought she meant professionally, that she wanted me to ensure the estate was handled properly."
"She meant all of it." Emmy chuckles and shakes her head. "She was playing matchmaker from beyond the grave."
