The System Admitted Its Mistake, So I Offered Him a Divorce novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: Brunch With the Cousin

At Lorna's table Jarrett proposes a live-in housekeeper to witness the marriage, and Justine makes him cosign every report in front of everyone, until the housekeeper's first act is to photograph the guest room bed.

Lorna's dining room had a table for twelve and five places set.

I counted them twice as Rafe pulled out my chair.

He chose the seat against the wall, again.

"Justine," Lorna said from the head of the table. "You look tired."

"I got married yesterday."

"I was there. Sit."

Jarrett was already in his chair, pouring coffee for everyone before the housekeeper could do it.

"Newlyweds first," he said, and slid my cup over himself. "Sleep at all?"

"Some."

"Good for you both. Honestly, I'm glad. I was wrong about this marriage, and I'll say so in front of her."

He nodded at Lorna.

She took a sip of tea and said nothing.

The fifth chair was empty until the door swung open and Winnie walked in wearing scrubs under her winter coat.

She dropped into the seat across from me and looked at Rafe for a long moment.

"Your grandmother's driver picked me up outside the ER," she said. "I haven't slept in thirty hours, and I'm told this is brunch."

"Winnie," I said. "What are you doing here?"

"Eating. I'm also checking that the man you married has a pulse."

Rafe held out his hand across the table.

"Rafe Holloway. You stood at the back of my wedding and glared at me the whole time."

Winnie shook it once.

"You've got a good grip," she said. "That's the only thing I like so far."

Lorna smiled into her tea for the first time since the wedding.

Jarrett set down the coffee pot.

"Since we're all family," he said, "I want to raise one practical thing, and I'd like Justine to hear it from me, kindly."

I put down my fork.

"Lorna's rule says the marriage must be real for twelve months. Nobody doubts yours. But the shares are big, and the board is nervous."

"Nervous," Rafe said.

"So I suggested a housekeeper. A discreet woman who lives in your home and writes a monthly note to Lorna that says you're a married couple. Not a spy. A witness."

He spread his hands.

"It protects you, Rafe. If anyone ever challenges this, there's a record."

Lorna turned her cup a quarter turn on its saucer.

"I agreed to it," she said. "She arrives this afternoon."

Rafe's hand tightened on his napkin.

I put my hand on his knee under the table, and felt his leg go still.

Then I smiled at Jarrett.

"That's a lovely idea," I said.

Jarrett's eyebrows lifted.

"But I'm a pharmacist. In my job nobody signs off on a count unless two people sign it. If the housekeeper writes reports about my marriage, I want a second signature on every one."

"Whose?"

"Yours."

Winnie put her coffee down and leaned back to watch.

"You proposed her," I said. "You're her cosigner. Every report goes to Lorna with your name under hers, and if a single line in it turns out to be wrong, it's your name that's wrong."

I took a pen out of my bag and a clean napkin off the tray.

"I'll write it down so nobody forgets."

Jarrett laughed.

It was a warm laugh, but his eyes had stopped moving.

"That's a lot of trust to put on a housekeeper," he said.

"It's a lot of trust to put on a marriage. Don't you think?"

I wrote the line, signed it, and slid the napkin and the pen to Lorna.

She read it for a long moment.

Then she initialed it and passed it to Jarrett.

"Sign it, dear," she said.

He signed.

His smile hadn't moved, but he turned his phone face down on the tablecloth.

Rafe was looking at me.

He had been looking at me for a while.

"What?" I said.

"Nothing," he said. "I forgot you were like this."

"Like what?"

"Fifteen years of 'Sure, no problem' and this is what was under it."

"You watched me for fifteen years?" I said.

He picked up his coffee and didn't answer.

Under the table, his hand came down on top of mine and stayed there for the rest of the meal.

After brunch Rafe drove me home to the penthouse in silence.

He kept one eye on the rear-view mirror and the other on every bridge we passed under.

The housekeeper was already waiting in the lobby with a suitcase.

She was fifty and polite and carried a camera.

She smiled at me, said, "Mrs. Holloway," and walked past us into the elevator.

By the time we reached the penthouse she was in the guest room with the door open, taking photographs of the unmade bed.

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