Page 99 of Her Ex-Husband's Brother

“Church tomorrow, isn’t it, darling?”

His brow furrows in horrified confusion. “Yes. Today is Saturday.”

“I would just love for you to have your wife by your side, cowed and repentant. But how can I be there, supporting you the way we both want, if you haven’t held up your side of the bargain?”

I lift my eyebrows meaningfully and, still staring directly at him, pluck the knife from the table with a small tug. Then I resume eating my steak.

“Well, I can’t make them let him out of the crazy bin if he’s still acting crazy and attacking people!” Jake throws up his hands. “You expect me to walk through walls to get him out? The system works the way it does for a reason. I told you he was dangerous.”

I freeze midbite, then lower my fork and knife to my plate, dropping them with a loud clatter.

“What exactly happened when he…” I have to swallow back my true feelings as I repeat what I know is somehow a mischaracterization of the truth, even if I don’t yet know how. “Attacked the guards?”

“How should I know? Mom was there to sign him out, and he just went apeshit?—”

My eyes close.

Then I forcefully snap them open again, furious all over.

“Your mother was there?”

Jake immediately becomes guarded. “Well…yeah. She’s his immediate family.”

My hand fists around the handle of my steak knife.

More internal screaming.

Then I lift my fork again. “That certainly creates a problem for you if you want me by your side at church tomorrow.”

Jake sputters, and I tune out his excuses while I chew the truly perfectly cooked steak.

Damn. I genuinely hate cooking, but I did get really damn good at it over the last nine years, didn’t I?

Only after I’ve finished my deeply satisfying bite and washed it down with a sip of red wine do I look at Jake again.

“Did you pay attention to anything I just said?” he asks in obvious exasperation.

“Have you come up with a way to solve the problem by tomorrow morning?” I ask pleasantly.

“I just told you that you’re asking for the impossible!”

He shoots out of his chair.

“Why are you being so emotional about this?”

I lift my eyebrows and calmly gesture with my fork at the lovely meal I’m having.

That’s when it finally sinks in for him that he’s the one who just dramatically leapt to his feet.

He grabs the back of his chair. I’m not sure whether he’s preparing to shove it in and stomp away or sit back down.

I calmly cut my next bite of steak.

“I might have a solution.”

He pauses, his grip on the back of the dining-room chair white-knuckled.

“Oh yeah?” he huffs. “What’s that?”