Until Love Do Us Part

by Anna Premoli

  UNTIL LOVE DO US PART

  Anna Premoli

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  About this Book

  About the Author

  Table of Contents

  www.ariafiction.com

  About Until Love Do Us Part

  What happens when two people who hate each other are forced to cooperate by law?

  Amalia and Ryan met at Yale Law School, from which their mutual dislike for one another was born.

  Amalia Berger is a successful, high society New York lawyer. Chicago based lawyer Ryan O’Moore is the eldest of four sons whose chaotic family run a pub in the heart of the Big Apple.

  New York beckons after Ryan is offered a promotion. But when the defence lawyer of his first case is the one and only Amalia Berger, things become complicated.

  The courtroom clash escalates between them to the point that the judge sentences them both to a punishment of community service, forcing them to spend time together…

  For my mother, who I suspect hates romance novels but who has always thought I should have been a lawyer.

  A lawyer will do anything to win a case, sometimes he will even tell the truth.

  Patrick Murray

  The first thing we do, let’s kill all the lawyers.

  Shakespeare, Henry VI

  Contents

  Welcome Page

  About Until Love Do Us Part

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Epilogue

  Thanks

  About Anna Premoli

  Also by Anna Premoli

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  Copyright

  Prologue

  It was common knowledge at all the bridge clubs that mattered in the Big Apple that Jacqueline Berger hated losing.

  In fact, saying she hated it was perhaps too mild a way of describing the feelings of Manhattan’s unrivalled queen of cards with regard to the issue, but fortunately for her – as well as for those sitting near her – the number of times in her card-playing career that Jackie had lost could be counted on the fingers of one hand.

  Too bad, then, that Mrs Berger was preparing for the second resounding loss in two days in a row. And in all the years they’d been playing, no one could remember anything like it happening before.

  “Oh damn it all! What the hell?!” exclaimed the sprightly lady with perfectly styled white hair, making no attempt to hide her anger and almost sending the cards on the table flying up into the air.

  “What’s the matter, dear? Not your night?” interjected Jessica Stein immediately. Sitting to Jackie’s left, Jessica was the wife of old Judge Stein, and Jackie’s longstanding mortal enemy. The animosity between the two of them dated back pretty much to the 1949 debutantes’ ball, and had gone down in history as the ‘duel of the two roses’. It had made the Civil war look like a tea party in comparison.

  Of course, to look at them now, no one would ever have suspected how much venom these two influential high society ladies had spat at one another back in the day, but there you are. Once upon a time, the wives of important people had few ways of spending their time other than carrying on protracted feuds – in fact, it had been a fairly common pastime. Not to mention that once you got a taste for it, it was extremely difficult to change your behavior. Especially when you were eighty years old.

  “Unless my math skills have somehow forsaken me, this is the second night in a row that you’ve lost,” added Mrs Stein, just so as to emphasize the exceptional nature of the event, despite the fact that all those present were well aware of it.

  A deathly silence descended upon the bridge table: no one dared draw breath as they awaited a response from Jackie. Who surprised them all with a loud guffaw. A good part of her fame derived from her unpredictability, and it irked her not to live up to people’s expectations – especially on her bad days.

  “Oh, don’t talk nonsense – your math skills have always been pretty questionable. And anyway, everybody knows that I never lose twice in a row.”

  Her tone – superficially casual – brooked no argument. Or at least, it brooked no argument from those who were intimidated by her.

  “Oh goodness – is your memory starting to go, my dear?” asked Mrs Stein with feigned concern, completely ignoring her adversary’s not particularly veiled insinuation. She and mathematics had never gotten along, and the fact was so well known that it was no surprise when it was remarked upon. But where one’s natural abilities couldn’t take one, one’s stubbornness often could, and when it came to stubbornness, Jessica Stein was entirely without equal in the world.

  “My memory is in excellent health. As you know very well,” said Jackie glacially.

  “So just admit that you’ve lost, then!” the other retorted. “For the second day in a row!”

  Mrs Berger turned to the player sitting in front of her. “Addison, dear, did I by any chance lose yesterday?” she asked her sweetly, seemingly perfectly composed. The question, uttered with such innocence was, however, accompanied by a glare that only the most naive fool could have missed. And a naive fool, Mrs McLean was certainly not.

  “I don’t think you did…” answered Addison McLean vaguely, pretending to cast her mind back. It was no coincidence that she was a politician’s wife – deny everything and never remember anything, those were the rules.

  “There you go – I didn’t lose yesterday!” exclaimed Jackie confidently, determined to get back to the game. She had already wasted enough precious time responding to Jessica Stein.

  But Jessica Stein was not one to be so easily shut up.

  “Oh yes, you did!” she hissed irritably, realizing that she had been outmanoeuvred. “You lost! You damn well lost!”

  “Nobody here seems to remember that, though, do they?” said Jackie calmly, picking up the deck of cards and shuffling it.

  Seeing that she had lost the chance to tease her opponent further, Jessica decided to take desperate measures. “Well with all this bad luck you’re having at the game it must mean that you’ve finally been lucky in love…”

  Jackie raised her eyes to the sky. “Oh, Jess, don’t talk such rot! I’ve been a widow for over ten years,” she answered, genuinely annoyed now. In their case, bringing up such private matters in public meant really having hit rock bottom.

  “Exactly! Ten years! Aren’t you sick of not having anyone to take you out to dinner or to the movies?”

  “What, you mean Judge Stein takes you to the movies?” asked Jackie, genuinely surprised. The old miser didn’t seem the type to do anything enjoyable, and she suspected that he’d chosen to become a judge simply because it allowed him to be mean to other people: he wallowed about in other people’s misery like an eel, the sadist.

  “Of course not… He’s a judge. Judges don’t waste their time going to the movies!” replied Jessica, shocked by her neighbour’s ignorance.

  “Well lawyers do, thank heavens, and so, unlike you, I do go to the movies,” exclaimed Jackie proudly. “Plenty. With my granddaughter.”

  “Who, Amalia?” exclaimed a shocked Mrs Stein, blinking in surprise.

  “Do I have another granddaughter that I don’t know ab
out?” Jackie asked, as though talking to a child.

  But her opponent took no notice of the sarcastic tone of her question. “So she’s still single, then?” she asked quietly, but with a look that spoke volumes.

  “Still single,” Jackie was forced to admit reluctantly, as she shifted nervously in her chair.

  “So it didn’t work out with that young man that you introduced her to?” interjected Addison, who would have considered it practically an offence not to take an active part in the gossiping – not coincidentally, she was widely considered among her friends to be the queen of tittle-tattle. In fact, the only one who didn’t seem interested in their chatter was Mrs Watts, who was sitting to the right of Jackie, but she didn’t really count: she could spend entire afternoons sitting at the card table without uttering a single word, so Jackie therefore considered her in some way the perfect counterbalance for Jessica. Though it wasn’t really possible to fully counterbalance Jessica – Mrs Stein was irritating enough for two, if not actually for three, other people.

  “No, unfortunately…” Jackie muttered through clenched teeth.

  “Still single at thirty-three? Lord above, when is she going to start thinking about having children!” exclaimed Mrs Stein, feigning genuine concern. She had the indisputable advantage of having already seen all of her grandchildren get married. On that front at least, she was unassailable.

  “I don’t know…” admitted Jackie finally. This was one game where it was absolutely impossible to cheat. Unfortunately.

  “There really aren’t that many eligible Jewish boys left in New York,” whispered Jessica at her side, as though it were a state secret. “By the time you get to that age, all the good ones have already been taken.”

  “You’re right,” agreed Addison gravely, giving her a look that would have been suited to far more serious matters than Amalia Berger’s love life.

  “Well I guess that just means that I’ll have to give up this sudden good stroke of luck in love of mine to my granddaughter, in the hope that she eventually meets the right person,” said Jackie. She paused for a moment to reflect. “I mean, even if she met someone who didn’t just run off straightaway that would be fine,” she added quickly. Never be too greedy and shoot for the moon. Better to take things one step at a time.

  “Well you know how Amalia scares them all away, dear… and my God, does she ever!” her friend Addison reminded her. To carry on making similar observations ran a serious risk of being struck off Mrs Berger’s carefully selected list of friends.

  Jackie sighed bitterly. “Those wimps…” she mused aloud.

  “Let’s face facts, you’d need nerves of steel to go out with your granddaughter,” said Jessica.

  Jackie shot her a murderous look.

  “My granddaughter is just a young woman who does not want to settle for anything less than the best,” she commented.

  “Back in our day, you were anything but young at thirty-three. I don’t understand this fashion today of calling everybody ‘young’. You open the newspaper and it’s full of nonsense like ‘a young man in his forties’… What’s young about forty?” asked Jessica, just to make sure that everyone understood her thoughts on the matter.

  Jackie, however, preferred not to engage in another debate and just sat there, eerily silent.

  “Amalia works too much,” added Jessica hurriedly, clearly unwilling to relinquish the topic, “she really does, far too much. Who’s going to marry a woman who spends half her life in court? And heavens above, your granddaughter has an opinion on everything! And, I mean, with all that money! Why on earth does she insist on working? She has a trust fund large enough to buy herself a small country.”

  “She works because she likes it,” said Jackie, jumping to the defense of her granddaughter despite feeling increasingly uncomfortable. “And she says that she enjoys it.”

  “Exactly,” persisted the other. “She likes to argue. Does that seem normal to you?”

  Jackie leaned back in her chair wearily. “Maybe she ought to meet someone who works in the same profession. At least a lawyer might understand her obsession for arguing about everything. Except that in this tiny damn city, all the lawyers already know each other. And if she hasn’t met anyone yet…”

  “Almost all,” pointed out Mrs Stein, her face suddenly brightening as she cut her friend off. “My husband told me that we’re going to be having a new Assistant District Attorney.”

  Around the table, all movement suddenly stopped. Mrs Watts actually even raised an eyebrow.

  “And how do you know that?” asked Addison, intrigued.

  “Oh heavens, dear – retired judges always know everything! How would they pass the time if they didn’t spend it gossiping about the legal world?”

  Her reasoning was iron-clad, and the others nodded sagely.

  “And is this new assistant district attorney Jewish?” asked Jackie quickly, revived by new hope.

  And Jessica Stein gave her first truly victorious smile of the evening. Because by now it was clear that she had the situation totally in hand.

  “Oh no, dear. He’s Irish,” she revealed joyfully as she watched Jackie Berger’s face turn pale. “Totally 100 per cent Catholic Irish.”

  1

  Amalia Berger did not believe in bad luck, but the day was gradually taking on a truly unhappy form.

  First, she hadn’t heard her alarm clock go off. Ridiculous, yes, but unfortunately perfectly possible if you happen to have one of those stupid new fangled ones that plays gentle, calming sounds which are supposed to wake you up without traumatising the hell out of you. And thanks to those stupid gentle, calming sounds of ocean waves or whatever they were – and whatever they were could probably only be heard only by dogs or bats – it was no surprise that its owner was now running very late for work.

  Note to self: get rid of that stupid alarm clock ASAP!

  Once she’d got up, though, misfortune had continued to persecute her. She had tripped up – she wasn’t sure exactly how – on the carpet, stubbing her big toe on the only thing that stuck out in the whole bedroom, the interior designer having planned the space so as to be completely without corners. Really very Feng Shui, right? Unfortunately, it looked as though he’d missed one…

  So now, the harmony of the room was disturbed by a small blood stain on the damned white carpet. Small, yes, but clearly visible against the snowy perfection that reigned supreme in there.

  Why the hell had she agreed to buy a white carpet knowing full well that she would be forced to walk on the damn thing?

  The sad truth was that when you got a top interior designer in to do up your home, you ended up living in a house that had no connection with you at all, because as far as an interior designer is concerned, the customer is never right. The designer is God, and the customer is simply the idiot who pays for his or her caprices – or ‘proofs of creative genius’, as those working in the industry like to call them. And woe to anyone daring to ask for somewhere to keep useful objects guilty of nothing worse than not having a particularly eye-catching design, or for a carpet you can camouflage the odd stain in. No, far better a white expanse that, year after year – and despite the expensive dry cleaning bills – would inevitably turn a horrible dismal grey.

  Amalia tried to console herself by promising she would change the carpet as soon as she could. She just had to remember to get rid of it without letting anyone know, especially her interior designer, who seemed to even keep an eye on what was thrown into the city’s garbage cans.

  Still sore, she limped into the kitchen, but, predictably, found that she had run out of coffee pods. Too bad that was the only type of coffee she was able to make for herself. But by this stage of the morning, Amalia was ready for the worst, and in a way she would actually have been surprised if an overlooked pod had turned up somewhere: days like this started badly and ended worse. It was logical.

  Ok, no coffee, no problem, it was fine, she repeated to herself as she quickly got dr
essed: black trousers, a baby blue silk shirt and a black jacket. Careful not to hurt her sore toe, she gently slipped on her beloved black Louboutin high heels and checked the time to see if there was actually any chance of arriving in court on time without having to resort to teleportation. At that point, finding a taxi was a matter of life or death. She picked up her bag and, keys in hand, was just about to slam the door shut behind her when the phone in her bag started ringing, making her jump. Amalia usually adored chatting to her grandmother, but not this early in the morning, and not when she was so dreadfully late.

  “Grandma, I can’t talk now,” she said bluntly as she hobbled her way down the flight of stairs.

  “But it’s important, Amalia!” groaned Jackie at the other end of the line. “You don’t know what I found out yesterday!”

  “Where were you last night?” asked Amalia, pretending to be interested as she went out into the street and peered about her in search of a taxi. Of which, obviously, there was no sign anywhere.

  “I was at the bridge club,” explained Jackie patiently, as though talking to a little girl.

  “Oh, of course, the bridge club…” repeated Amalia with a tone of mild derision. Actually, maybe not so mild.

  Not that she had anything against this hobby of her grandmothers, but for God’s sake, what could she have discovered that was so important during a boring game of bridge? The youngest of Jackie’s friends must be about a hundred years old, at least! The four of them sitting around that table pretty much represented an entire geological era. With all due respect, of course.

  “I know that tone of voice, my dear…” warned Jackie, ominously.

  “Grandma, it’s just the tone of voice of a woman who’s at the end of her tether because she’s late for work. I don’t have time now, really. I’ll call you around lunchtime so you can tell me this incredible bit of gossip, ok?”

  “Oh, you do whatever you want. But you’d do well to remember that the conversations which take place around a bridge table are often more important than the ones you big-shot lawyers have in your courtrooms.”