Fiance for Keeps

by Gail Chianese

  “What’s your point?” he growled again.

  Yep, she’d hit a nerve, but because she really liked Dena and wanted to see her happy again, she was willing to pick on that nerve a bit longer. “You’re a little overprotective. Relax. Let her have some fun.”

  “We’ll see how much fun she’s having when he turns out to be an ax murderer on the FBI’s Most Wanted List.”

  Brody kept looking out the window, his eyes searching for something or someone. Denise was just about to ask him about it when a couple entered the square. They walked hand in hand with the woman’s body angled into his. Even from a distance, Denise could see the twinkle in her eyes as she laughed at something the man said to her.

  “Did you ask me to dinner so we could spy on your mom, Brody?”

  “No, I told you, I didn’t want to eat alone.”

  “So, you had no idea she’d be here tonight? Tell the truth, counselor.”

  “Am I on trial?”

  “You might be if your mom spots you.” She picked up her glass and looked over the rim toward the window. “So that’s him, the new love interest who has you going a little crazy.”

  “Looks like it.”

  The man with Dena Nichols stood eye to eye with her, which meant he was a whopping five-seven, had gray hair that wasn’t so full as to look like a Don Juan nor so thin as to remind her of the villain from the Scooby-Doo movies. He dressed sharp in a charcoal suit, sweater vest, and penny loafers. His round-rimmed glasses reminded her of her favorite science teacher from middle school.

  “You’re right. He looks extremely dangerous. I’d put him on the top-five Most Wanted List . . . against frogs.”

  “Looks can be deceiving.”

  “Oh, come on. He looks like Mr. Zulily from eighth grade. Aw, he gave those kids coins to toss in the fountain.” She looked Brody in the eye, holding back her laughter. “Clearly a sign of a sociopath.”

  The waiter arrived with their meals, and while he set everything out, Denise stole another look out the window. Dena had tossed her own coin in and then the two of them strolled through the rest of the square. Probably heading to the pastry shop around the corner. No trip to Atwells Avenue was complete without pastries.

  Speaking of food, the aroma from her dinner made her mouth water, and as soon as the waiter walked away she dug in. With today’s patient load, her lunch had consisted of a few Pringles dunked in Nutella.

  “How’s your family?” Brody pulled his attention away from his mom’s retreating form and scowled at her.

  Denise shook her head and laughed. “Eat and stop thinking about it. As for my family, good, same. Elysia’s preggers with her second kid. Chel’s still as flighty as ever. Mom and Dad are still like Gomez and Morticia. So what’s the story with you? Why haven’t you settled down with some nice girl yet?”

  “Why haven’t you?”

  “No nice girls will have me.”

  “Me neither. Is it worth it?” he asked, and Denise knew what he meant.

  “Yeah, it is. I mean, it’s not all sunshine and laughter. Some days, like today—six cases of the stomach flu—make you wish you were flipping burgers. No lie, I had to wash my hair three times to get the smell out. But other days—like when a thirty-two-year-old dad flatlines and you save him—it’s everything I dreamed of.”

  Not really, but it wasn’t the time to try to explain how she’d been feeling, especially when she herself didn’t fully understand or even know what she wanted anymore.

  He stared at her with his deep brown eyes, then leaned into her and breathed in deep. “Smells like tropical flowers to me.”

  Her heart slowed as his warm breath fanned across her cheeks, as his fingers skimmed down her hair before settling on the back of her neck. She shifted until she caught his gaze and held it. “You know what they say, third time’s a charm. Right? So, work, how’s it going?”

  Brody moved back into his own space and Denise’s heart dropped back down to normal speed, which should have been comforting. Instead, she fought the urge to close the gap between them and had to remind herself this wasn’t a romantic date, just two old friends meeting to talk business.

  “The day job pays the bills and allows me to do a lot of pro bono for Legal Aid.” She could hear it in his voice, that slight change in tone when he mentioned the latter. A hint of pride, a dose of passion, and a longing she understood.

  “Have you ever thought of working for Legal Aid full-time?” She pushed the nearly empty bowl away and took a sip of wine. “It would let you help more people that way right?”

  “It would and I have an open offer.”

  “Brody, that’s fantastic. Are you going to take it?”

  “Haven’t decided.” He pointed toward her bowl. “Do you want to order dessert and then talk business?”

  “I don’t know. Am I going to need chocolate?”

  He looked out the window, blew out a breath, and she knew.

  She was going to need chocolate, possibly lots of it.

  She ordered molten chocolate cake with ice cream. Her stress dessert. Brody passed and stuck with espresso; he still had two cases to prep for court that week.

  “Just tell me.” Her brows had drawn together.

  He’d stalled as long as he could, giving them both the opportunity to relax over their meal. Something he’d bet she didn’t do on a regular basis. He’d go so far as to bet a year’s salary that she still lived on frozen pizza, Pop-Tarts, and chips dipped in chocolate spread.

  “Their rep said no way. The original candidate they had lined up for this season backed out and you were the alternative. As soon as they got your reply they started putting things in motion. Now it’s too late to find another Ms. Right, plus the producers are set on fresh blood.”

  The waiter interrupted long enough to set down her dessert and his coffee, giving Brody a moment to study her reaction. It didn’t appear to be the worst news ever, although he wouldn’t call what she wore a happy smile.

  “Fresh blood, huh? That’s reassuring. Well, I guess there’s nothing else to do except for me to tell my boss I’ll be on leave and report to San Francisco in two weeks. Thanks for trying, Brody.”

  She scooped up a bite of cake, her eyes drifting shut as her mouth closed around the spoon. The look on her face . . . pure bliss. Never before had he found himself jealous of a utensil.

  “Are you sure you want out of this deal?” he asked, watching another spoonful of chocolate slip between those lovely lips of hers.

  “I do, but I don’t want to get sued for breach of contract either. I’m still paying off the last of my student loans. Besides, you’re the one who always told me to read the fine print before signing on the dotted line. Call it just deserts.”

  “I’ll make a few phone calls tomorrow, check with a couple of law school buddies of mine who specialize in entertainment law. I’m not buying the story that they didn’t have a backup plan in case you said no. From what Cherry’s said, they get hundreds of applicants every season.”

  She must have noticed his gaze following the spoon as she offered him the next scoop. He took the bite and resisted the urge to grab her wrist and taste her instead. She drove him nuts, always had, and he had a sinking feeling she always would. Her going on the show and finding some perfect guy would probably be the best thing for both of them. If only he could shake the feeling that something was off. The rep’s comment about fresh blood struck him as odd. He didn’t follow the show but knew his secretary was an avid fan, or used to be, until some male contestant turned her sour on it. He’d have to ask his bud in California or Cherry. She had contacts; maybe it was time to call in a favor.

  “Hey, earth to Brody. Come in, Brody.”

  “Sorry. Going over a few things in my head.”

  “You just can’t help yourself, can you? You see a woman in distress and you have to help. I get it. Really I do, and I’m not knocking you for it either. The world would be a better place if we had more people like you, pe
ople who cared and were willing to step in and help those who can’t stand up for themselves. But . . . I made this mess. You don’t have to clean it up for me.”

  He knew it, and damn if he didn’t respect her for owning up to her own mistake. “I don’t like it.”

  “I know, but I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself, so stop worrying, and tomorrow you can go back to forgetting me.”

  “Give me a couple of days. I have an idea I want to run by a friend first.”

  Chapter Six

  Tuesday morning, Brody sat next to his client, who jumped in her seat with every soft whoosh of the door opening or loud noise. Not that he blamed her, with all she’d been through. Which was why he was there. He’d been at the ex parte hearing too, even though his presence wasn’t required. If he hadn’t attended to lend moral support, he was pretty sure Mrs. Snow would have taken her two kids and escaped to Canada. He’d shown up then and taken her case to give her a fighting chance at a normal life, one that didn’t include her playing the part of a punching bag to a mean drunk.

  It was nine in the morning and the heaters hadn’t fully kicked on yet. But that wasn’t why Alina Snow sat shaking.

  He reached out to pat her arm and reassure her all would be okay when he heard her suck in her breath and freeze. Brody didn’t have to look over his shoulder to know Tom Snow had entered the courtroom.

  The cocky son of a bitch strolled up the aisle like he was king of the keep until he stood next to their row. He looked toward his wife, but Brody had instructed her not to make eye contact with him. If she did, Brody knew she’d bolt. He’d been in her place once, known the power an abuser could hold over his victim. He’d seen the bruises, read the medical and police reports. Today should be a slam-dunk. He’d be damned if he’d let Snow intimidate his client in court. Brody stood, looked Tom Snow in the eye, and held his gaze, challenging him.

  The bailiff, who had worked in the courthouse since the dawn of time and was a friend of Brody’s, walked up to Snow and nodded to a seat on the other side of the room. Snow held his ground, glancing between the two men facing him. After a few minutes, the man broke out into an I-don’t-give-a-shit grin and took the suggested seat. A small part of Brody was disappointed Snow had backed down so easily.

  Before Brody resumed his seat he caught sight of the pretty redhead standing in the doorway. He signaled for Cherry to take the seat behind him and turned his focus back to Mrs. Snow. The court called those in attendance to order, asked everyone to rise for the Honorable Charlotte E. Ronen. Now the fun began—the waiting.

  Court was all about hurry up and wait.

  Totally out of his hands.

  Your time might be nine and you’d better not be late, but you could sit there while the judge heard twenty other cases before they got to yours. It didn’t bother Brody. He’d learned at a young age how to sit and be present and lost in his own head all at the same time. Unfortunately for his client, with each new case called before the judge, she got more frightened.

  Seven cases in, she tugged on his suit sleeve. “I can’t do this,” she mumbled and started to stand.

  “It won’t be much longer,” he assured her.

  She sat back down, curled into herself.

  A soft chuckle floated across the air and Alina curled in tighter.

  “Mr. Nichols, I can’t face him. I’ve got to go. I’m sorry.”

  Brody leaned in close. “Mrs. Snow, you can do this because this isn’t for you. It’s for your children.”

  When the clerk called Alina Snow, Brody stood and held out his hand. “You can do this. You were strong enough to walk away and get help; don’t let him take that away from you now.”

  She sat there, gaze glued to the floor. Snow walked back up the aisle and stopped long enough to snicker at his wife before pushing through the swinging gates. The clerk called her name again. Brody waited. It had to be her decision. If she didn’t stand up to her asshat of a husband and show she was done, he’d just come back swinging harder.

  Alina Snow looked at his hand and then at her husband. She put her hand in Brody’s and nodded.

  They took their place and the judge read off the charges against Tom Snow. “Do you understand, Mr. Snow, what I’ve just read?”

  “Those charges are all a fornication,” Snow said.

  “Excuse me?” The judge removed her glasses, dropped her chin to her neck, and gave the defendant the look.

  “You know. All lies. Not once have I ever touched my wife in anger, your highness.”

  “That would be a fabrication, and it’s Your Honor.” She slipped her glasses back on and turned to Brody and Mrs. Snow.

  “She’s just trying to turn everyone against me so she can take my kids away,” Snow whined.

  The judge, again, gave Snow the look, the one that said he was trying her patience and if he knew what was good for him, he’d shut it.

  “Mr. Nichols, if you and your client have no objections, I’ll let the defendant go first.”

  Brody agreed and stood back, letting Tom Snow dig an ice tunnel to China. He told the judge how hard he worked, how he’d come home to a dirty house every day, the kids fussing because they were hungry and neither had been bathed or put into clean clothes. He went on to tell how his wife, who stood a good foot shorter than him, threatened to do him bodily harm if he complained about anything around the house or about the kids. She withheld sex when he wouldn’t do housework. According to the defendant, his wife had even told him she’d cut off his manhood if he touched her without her permission.

  Next to Brody, his client quietly gasped and shook her head at the accusations. Brody whispered for her not to say anything until it was her turn and not to worry.

  “A couple of weeks ago, I came home from work. As usual, the house was trashed and the kids stank to high heaven. I told her she needed to get up off her ass and take care of things. Give the kids a bath. Well, she went nuts, Your Honor. Gave me a black eye, busted my lip, and I’m pretty sure she cracked one of my ribs.”

  “Uh-huh. Did you call the police?”

  “No.”

  “Go to the hospital?”

  “No. Come on, Judge. What guy wants to admit his wife kicked his ass?”

  “I’m sure not many and I’ll remind you to watch your language. There is no profanity in my courtroom.” She took off her glasses and twirled them around as she studied some notes she’d been jotting down. “Do you have any witness to the alleged attack or to back up any of your statements?”

  “I don’t air my dirty laundry in front of the world.”

  “Okay. Thank you, Mr. Snow.” The judge turned to Brody and ran his client through a series of questions.

  When Alina was done talking and Brody had passed over the reports, as well as an affidavit from a neighbor, he waited. Not once did he doubt the ruling would be in his client’s favor. Every now and then the judge would glance up at Snow with a scowl on her face. After several long minutes she set the stack of documents aside, thanked Brody, and turned to the defendant.

  “Mr. Snow, your actions toward your wife are deplorable. I’m granting Mrs. Snow’s request for a restraining order for the maximum duration of five years, during which time you will not be within two hundred yards of the plaintiff. You may not call, text, or e-mail her, or contact her through the postal service. If you violate this order you can and will be sent to jail. Do you understand this order?”

  “What about my kids? How am I supposed to see them if I can’t come within two hundred yards? That’s like two football fields. What do I do if we’re in the same store?”

  “In regard to your children, I will make a recommendation that you have court appointed and supervised visits. May I also suggest you seek anger management counseling, and as for the store, if you see your wife there, leave immediately.”

  The gavel came down, drowning out Snow’s response. Alina turned to Brody, took his hands, and cried. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

&nbs
p; They walked back through the swinging gates, with Brody shielding his client, and met up with Cherry outside the courtroom. Brody walked them to the end of the hall to keep both women away from Snow as he exited the courtroom. Once the coast was clear he made the introductions. “Is it done?” he asked Cherry.

  “Got the text from Jason about five minutes ago. He and his crew got all Mrs. Snow’s belongings moved out of her old place and into her new apartment.”

  “I can never repay you for your kindness,” she said to Cherry. “You don’t even know me, yet look at all you and your husband have done for me.”

  Cherry drew her in for a hug. “You don’t owe us anything. Just take care of yourself and your children. And if you need someone to talk to, give us a call down at the community center.”

  Alina pulled back and took the card Cherry offered. Brody explained it would take a couple of minutes for the clerk’s office to type up the order, so he found her a place to sit and got her a cup of coffee. He and Cherry walked a few feet away to give Alina some privacy so she could make a phone call to her mother, and so they could talk about the show.

  “Did you get hold of your friend the producer?” He rolled his neck, stretching out the tension, and everything went snap, crackle pop. Damn, he felt old.

  “Steve confirmed what the rep told you. They want Denise. She’s a fresh face, and America is tired of the drama queens from seasons past. Ratings have dropped and they’re hoping to start fresh. They want someone accomplished, respected in her profession, and not crazy as a loon. Those are his words. They want someone America can fall in love with and they think it’s Denise.”

  Brody looked over toward his client, who was still on the phone. “What about the men? Do they plan to screen out the whack jobs?”

  Cherry shook her head and let out a low laugh. “Heck no. They still want drama and conflict. Nothing brings up the ratings like when two guys fight over one woman. Every female viewer wants to be her.”

  “I’ll never understand women.”

  “Look, it’s not that complicated. We want to feel wanted, sexy, appreciated, and above all respected. But it starts with feeling wanted. Knowing we can make a man, or two, go a little alpha dog and be ruled by his base emotions—it’s empowering. Not that I’m saying Denise is the type who’s going to want two men going fisticuffs.”