Writer's note: The character of Jane Brandon was inspired by the amazing Emma Thompson. And once again, if anything does happen to my fanfiction dot net account, you can find this story and all of my other writing on archiveofourown under lalakate.

And always-thanks for reading!


Our originally scheduled meeting for Wednesday won't work. It's been rescheduled for next Monday at noon. Same place.

He digests the words, running fingers through unruly morning hair as his phone vibrates once more against his palm.

Don't think your little publicity stunt at your latest signing involving Miss Flavor of the Month has gone unnoticed. Thanks for the ammunition.

Shit. Just shit.

Charles rubs his hand over his face, staring back at his phone screen, willing the text to change.

Why the delay? And what ammunition?

He pours the freshly brewed coffee into two mugs, adding just enough cream to both while awaiting Freda's reply.

You'll find out on Monday.

Damn it. What in God's name does she have planned?

He hears noises coming from the bedroom and picks up the mugs, knowing that Mary will try to do more than she should now that her knee is improving. She's every bit as stubborn as he is, which is both a blessing and a curse when it comes to her ultimate recovery.

"Be careful in there," he calls out as he heads in that direction.

"I thought that was my line."

Bloody minx.

He can't help but smile as he nudges the door to her bedroom open, remembering all that happened between them past couple of nights, all the very things they probably shouldn't have done but he cannot regret doing.

Especially not when she's propped up lazily on her pillows looking good enough to eat.

"Do you think you could hand me a shirt?"

She smiles that smile of hers, the one that gets him every time, especially when her hair's messy, her face make-up free, and she looks like she's just been well and thoroughly fucked.

"I don't know, honestly."

He sets her coffee down on the bedside table, gazing down at her as she tosses him a challenge with her brow.

"Why not?"

"Because then I couldn't see your breasts," he replies, leaning down, teasing her lips before trailing lower to claim a nipple just waking up. "It's a shame to cover up such works of art."

"These works of art are cold," she says as he sets his own coffee down so he can cup the other one with his palm. "How is it you're always so warm?"

"Too much coffee," he surmises before dotting a final kiss to her nipple and raising up to smile at her resulting sigh.

"Too much something," she grins as he moves towards her dresser and pulls out a long-sleeved t-shirt. He tosses it her direction, watching her catch it one-handed before pulling it on over her head. "That's better," she purrs before reaching for her mug and taking a sip.

"That depends on who you ask," he muses, tossing her a wicked grin before sitting down on his side of the bed. "How's the knee?"

"It's fine," she states with a roll of her eyes. "I told you Saturday and again last night that we can have sex without messing it up."

"That you did," he agrees, offering his mug up in a toast. "And I've never been so happy to have been proven wrong." They clink their steaming brews together before taking another sip, her brows creasing as he stares out the window.

"What's wrong?"

He turns to find her watching him.

"Nothing," he lies with a shrug. He'll be damned if he'll ruin what they shared this weekendt with Freda's vile threats. "Just thinking about all I need to get done this week."

She hums and moves closer to him as his arm wraps around her shoulders.

"Mainly your divorce. You know we're going to celebrate once it's final, don't you?"

He swallows down a foul taste in his mouth, knowing he has to tell her about the delay.

"About that," he begins. "Freda texted me this morning and asked to change the date of our finalization."

Mary sits up straighter, setting her coffee back down so she can eye him directly.

"You didn't agree, did you?" He slides down in the bed, rubbing his hands over his face as he exhales loudly. "Shit. You did agree."

"She didn't really ask me," he states. "It was more of a done deal."

"So she demanded that you put things off longer?" Mary questions, sighing into the room as he nods his head. "Damn it, Charles, you don't have to let her control this, you know. You were the wronged party here, not her. She left you."

"I know," he combats. "I know, Mary, it's just that…" He pauses, looking directly at her, at this woman who rearranged his life for the better. "I just want all of this to be over."

He closes his eyes, wondering for the thousandth time why he ever married Freda in the first place, fighting down the urge to take a hot shower and wash every bit of her away.

"I know you do," Mary returns. "So do I. But you don't have to let her push you around, Charles. She doesn't get to be in charge of your divorce."

Her eyes stare back at him, into him, and he leans forward to kiss her, to make certain she's still there, to assure himself that she's not going to get up and walk out the door and leave him.

"I know," he concedes with a sigh. "You're right. It's just that Elliot really knows what he's doing when it comes to divorces, and, well, I don't."

She looks down at her hands then back at him.

"Lucy says you need a better lawyer."

"Lu is probably right. I mean, John means well, but he's having a difficult time holding his own against Elliot."

He rubs his fingers over his scalp before taking another drink of coffee, wishing he'd taken his sister and brother-in-law's counsel months ago.

"Then hire another one."

Her fingers trail up his arm, just as they had last night, and he closes his eyes, absorbing her touch, wishing he could rewrite his past with Freda just so Mary wouldn't have to deal with the ugliness of it.

"I wouldn't know where to begin," he confesses, laying his hand on top of hers. "And I'm so close to having her out of my life, I don't want to risk moving backwards."

"A good attorney isn't a step backwards," Mary continues. "And even if it prolongs your proceedings a few weeks, at least you'll be treated fairly." He gazes back at her, cupping her cheek, wishing he knew what to do.

"Where would I even start? I don't know where to look, Mary?"

She stares down at her hands, taking a deep breath before looking back at him.

"Why don't you leave that to me?"

"You want to find me a divorce lawyer?" he asks.

"No. I want to find you a killer divorce lawyer," she corrects. "One who won't let Freda even smell the profits from your book, much less get her hands on them."

His heart swells in his chest, and he looks back at her, wondering what the hell he ever did to deserve this goddess now sharing her bed with him.

"You really think that's the right move?"

She leans forward to kiss him, claiming yet another piece of him as her own.

"I do," she hums. "Freda's always trying to catch you off guard. Let's turn the tables on her and see how she likes it."

Her grin is wicked, her logic nearly as tempting as her lips.

"Alright," he returns. "I'll leave this up to you, my queen."

"I'm rather good at leaving you up," she hums, sliding long fingers just inside his boxers, nearly making him slosh his coffee all over the mattress.

"Yes," he practically squeaks. "So I've noticed. Now if you'll excuse me, I have breakfast to cook."

"Eggs and bacon?" she asks as he stands up and makes his way to her side of the bed, extending a hand to help her maneuver.

"I was contemplating French Toast," he replies. "Something about an incredible night of sex has just put me in the mood for it."

"Interesting," she hums, leaning into him just so. "You didn't say that yesterday morning."

"Perhaps my cravings are subject to change," he grins, rewarded by a smirk so loaded it could fire at point blank range.

"Your cravings are far too predictable," she shoots. "And they usually involve my breasts. But French Toast does sound lovely. Can you make mine stuffed?"

"I'll stuff your toast anytime," he smiles, holding her securely against him as his mouth descends on hers.

God, he loves her.

Breakfast is eaten, dishes placed in the dishwasher when he receives another text. He presses his lips together, bracing himself for impact before he realizes its from Rex.

Gildon Publishing just sweetened their offer. Can we meet with their representative for lunch to discuss it?

"Don't tell me it's Freda again," Mary says, her eyes boring into him from across the table.

"No, thankfully," he replies. "It's Rex. Evidently Gildon Publishing thinks I'm worth wooing."

"You are," she observes. "Just don't let it go to your head. You're far too cocky as it is."

"You didn't seem to mind that fact last night," he quips, walking over to her to drop a kiss on to her head. "Besides, you excel at keeping my ego right where it needs to be."

"You can thank me later," she returns, with a flick of her brow.

"I fully intend to do just that," he says. "What time do you want to go to the office?"

"I can be ready in half an hour," she replies. "If you'll help me get dressed."

"The ultimate challenge," he states with a sigh. "Undressing you is the easiest thing I've ever done, but dressing you…" She tugs his face down for a lingering kiss, one full of tongue and promise tinged with fruit, cream and coffee.

"It's an order, Lord Ogre," she states, drawing back from him just far enough to tease. "Not a request."

"I love it when you're demanding," he breathes, giving her neck a quick nip before helping up from the table.

"You love it when I'm naked," she returns with a flick of her brows.

"No argument there," he grins, finishing their conversation with lips and teeth rather than words.

He drops her off nearly an hour later, helping her get situated at her desk and checking in with Ruby before he dares to leave.

"Call or text if she needs me," he instructs as Ruby moves back to her desk with a nod. "You have my number."

"Stop pestering my assistant, and go to your meeting," Mary insists, shooing him away like a pesky fly. "It's a Monday. You and I both have work to do, and we're too easily distracted by each other right now."

"Distractions like that are worth it," Ruby murmurs, punctuating her remark with a smile to let Charles know that he was supposed to hear it. He shoots Mary's coworker a look before returning his full attention back to his lover.

"I can't imagine there will be a time in my life when you won't distract me," he retorts as he moves towards the exit.

"Every man should be so lucky," she purrs, tossing him a quirked brow he'd like to catch and put in his pocket.

God, he wishes he could stay with her all day. But she's right, they both have jobs, one he's been neglecting more than he should ever since she sprained her knee, so he gets back in his car and makes his way towards his flat, knowing there are documents there he should pick up and study if Mary actually does find a divorce lawyer for him she thinks will do a better job. He turns his key in the lock and steps inside, amazed by how empty and musty this place he calls home now feels.

The silence is almost stifling.

It's not his home anymore, that's the reality of it. His new home is a tall, slender brunette with aquiline brows, a razor-sharp wit, legs for days and a heart he'll guard with his life. He'd be happy anywhere she is, a fact that makes him feel a bit like an over-eager Labrador who would follow his master off a cliff if ordered to do so.

God, he's got it bad.

It's then realizes that something is off, things are not right, at least they're not exactly as he left them the last time he dropped by to pick up some more clothes. He can't put his finger on it, but he knows someone has been here, almost certainly someone who's trying to take him for every pound his has and then some with a smile on her face and his life's work in her wallet.

What the hell did Freda come looking for? And if she truly has new ammunition against him as she claims, why would she even bother to break into his flat?

There's nothing here to be used in their divorce, nothing of which she's already not aware, so he shakes his head at the situation and bites his lower lip, feeling decidedly uneasy.

He moves to his desk and goes through the drawers, locating exactly what he needs, knowing that the information in his hands is nothing new to his almost ex. Has she been looking for dirt on Mary, perhaps, evidence that they've been together far longer than they actually have? Is she planning on setting them up so it appears as if his relationship with Mary had something to do with their separation? Was that what her earlier text had implied?

He can't fathom just how even Freda could manage such a thing when the truth of the matter was that Mary and he met just a month ago.

One month. Christ. There reality of it is almost absurd. But he'll take this sort of absurdity in his life and protect it with all that he's worth.

It's then it hits him, the one piece of paper that's missing, one he'd found by accident, one Freda had neglected to do away with when she should have done. He looks through the drawer again, cursing into the emptiness of his flat before chuckling at the irony of it all.

Freda took the record of her abortion-the one thing he would never actually use against her. His nearly ex-wife is truly a piece of work.

He couldn't bring himself to even consider introducing the incident into their proceedings. Discovering that she'd aborted their child without discussing it with him is a personal pain, one he nurses privately and has spoken of to one person. Only Mary is aware of what happened, and their shared pain over lost children helps her understand why he refuses to let something so intimate become a legal weapon.

A child is too pure for the ugliness between himself and Freda. He could never allow his baby to be used as a point of contention, whether or not that child was ever given a fair chance at life. He shakes his head again, puffing the breath he hasn't realized he's been holding out of his cheeks, thanking God or whoever is listening that Freda walked out of his life and that Mary waltzed into it.

He knows he doesn't deserve her, but he's too addicted to change their course now.

And with that, he places what he needs into his briefcase, walks out of his flat and locks the door behind him.


She can't believe what she's about to do.

If anyone had even suggested this course of action only last week, she would have blown them off and sworn they were delusional. But a lot happened this weekend, many things of significance, in fact. And if her encounter with Matthew has opened a door that just might help her find a suitable attorney for Charles, then she's going to step through it.

I'm so sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if you'd mind offering me a piece of legal advice?

Her thumb hesitates over the Send button, her teeth worrying her lip as she takes a deep breath.

This is for Charles, she reminds herself, so he can finally be free, so the two of them can move forward rather than being caught in the quagmires of their respective pasts. How odd that the very man whose memory bound her for far too long could actually now provide her with the means of moving past him altogether.

She swallows hard and sends the text.

The same email is perused at least three times as she awaits Matthew's reply, her stomach twisting nervously as she anticipates his response. Things had been left in a good place between them on Saturday, at least a far better place than which they'd found themselves for over a year. Would he see her text as a clingy measure, a means of luring him back into her life when they'd worked so hard to be free of each other?

She sighs, knowing that second-guessing herself will get her nowhere when her phone alerts her of his reply.

Mary. What a lovely surprise to hear from you. What sort of advice do you need?

Thank God.

A friend of mine needs a good divorce lawyer. Any recommendations?

She can't bring herself to mention that the lawyer is for Charles, to alert Matthew to the fact that the man she supposedly is trying to get pregnant by is actually still legally married to someone else.

It's then that it hits her. Since her accident, she's been horribly negligent about taking her birth control pills.

Her eyes widen, her throat goes dry, and her hand flies down to her middle as she tries to work out dates in her brain. Was she fertile last night? Or the night before? Is it possible that their first weekend of sex has left a little something behind inside of her, a little something that will only continue to grow? Her phone vibrates again, jerking her out of her reverie as she stares down at it unseeing, finally picking it up so she can read what Matthew has to say.

My top recommendation would be Jane Brandon. She's smart, no-nonsense, and fights like hell for her client's best interests.

Jane Brandon, Mary whispers to herself, trying to push worries that could be completely unfounded out of her head. She does a quick Google search, finding the woman's listing with ease, clicking on the link to her practice just as her phone buzzes again.

If you'd like, I can send her a quick note. Tell her a friend of mine might be contacting her.

A friend of mine. Words she'd never anticipated to hear from Matthew allow her to breathe with ease, at least for a few seconds.

Please. That would be lovely. Thank you!

She gazes at the lawyer's photograph, liking the polished look of the woman she'd guess to be in her mid-fifties, thinking to herself that a female attorney might be beneficial for Charles in going up against his ex-wife.

I just shot her an email. I'd wait an hour or so then have your friend give her a call. Make certain they mention my name so her call will get through. Jane's a busy woman and tends to stay in demand.

She takes a deep breath, realizing that Matthew assumed she is asking for a female friend rather than for Charles. Another wave of relief floods her insides, and she knows full well that she herself will make the initial call, uncertain as to whether or not she'll tell Charles just who he has to thank for the favor.

Things are good between them-wonderful, in fact. There's no need to muddy the waters with mentions of her ex when his has already piled his plate full.

"Do you want me to order lunch?"

Ruby's question catches her off guard, and her stomach does a somersault as her carelessness last night strikes her again. Her hand moves to her waist as she takes a drink of water, prompting her assistant to stare back at her in concern.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, Ruby," Mary answers. "I'm fine. My stomach just feels a bit off at the moment."

The younger woman's round to the size of a pair of ripe limes.

"Oh my God. Are you pregnant?"

Mary nearly spews the water out of her nose, choking on it instead, taking another gulp to try to chase down the first.

"Don't ever do that again," Mary insists as Ruby hovers over her, making certain that she can breathe properly.

"Okay," Ruby says. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to take you by surprise like that. But are you?"

She breathes out her nose and swallows again, clearing her throat as she tries to salvage at least a shred of composure.

"No," Mary insists. "At least I don't think so. Why do you ask?"

"Well, you said your stomach was off," Ruby replies. "And with Mr. Hot Stuff at your every beck and call, well…" She shrugs and looks back at Mary, biting her lower lip.

"Just because my stomach turned over doesn't mean I'm pregnant," Mary insists.

Ruby takes a step closer and raises a brow to meet Mary's.

"But you could be?"

"Charles and I are having sex, and as far as I know there's no reason why I can't conceive," Mary states. "So yes, it's possible. Just neither probable nor very likely."

The women stare at each other until Ruby puffs out a breath and raises her phone.

"So lunch?" she asks. "I can order from that Vietnamese place you like."

She's tempted by the allure of warm broth and vegetables, her pulse settling back into a normal rhythm as her mouth begins to water.

"Pho sounds wonderful," Mary says, leaning back in her chair, hoping that any and all conversation about her possible pregnancy was now over and done with.

"I thought it might," Ruby smiles, still eyeing her a bit too closely for Mary's liking. "I'll call it in and head out to pick it up in a few."

Mary breathes in and out as her assistant leaves her office, and she rubs her temples while no one is watching, hoping the dull headache that just started behind her eye sockets will go away with some lunch and time alone. She stares at her clock, noting that only ten minutes have passed since Matthew last texted her, so she opens another file on her laptop, filling her mind with the Langley House project as best as she can.

At least she can pretend to be productive, even if her mind is distracted by divorces, lawyers and neglected birth control. But productivity is just an illusion, and she knows it, so after a mere twenty-five minute wait, she picks up the phone and calls Jane Brandon, hoping that she'll actually manage to accomplish one thing of worth today.


"Charles. There you are!"

Rex waves at him as Charles crosses the room to their table, shaking the man's hand before offering his to Gildon Publishing's representative. She's a petite strawberry blonde with merry blue eyes that he swears nearly twinkle in the restaurant's lighting.

"Mr. Wesley," she says, shaking his hand with a smile. "Lavinia Crawley. What an honor to meet you."

He freezes in his spot, his heart taking off like a prized Thoroughbred at The Kentucky Derby.

"Miss Crawley," he states, forcing himself to smile, knowing to himself that there's no way in hell that this Lavinia isn't Matthew's Lavinia. After all, how many Lavinia Crawleys can there be out there, especially ones that fit the age and demographic bracket that would most likely match Matthew's wife?

Has the universe recently gone mad, at least where he's concerned?

"It's Mr. Blake, actually. Charles Blake."

She nods as he sits, accepting the offered glass of water from their waiter and taking a rather deep gulp.

"I believe my husband and mother-in-law had the honor of recently meeting you," Lavinia continues. "At your book signing on Saturday."

He looks back at her, wondering what she knows, wondering just what Matthew told her, completely uncertain of what to say.

"If your mother-in-law is my mother's new best friend, then I must tell you that she's a delightful woman, indeed." He looks at his watch before returning his attention back to her. "I daresay they're having lunch together even as we speak."

Lavinia smiles at this, her eyes narrowing slightly as if sizing up what's to be said next.

"Isobel is a big fan of yours," she states, picking up her own water glass and taking a sip. "I haven't told her about Gildon's interest in publishing your work yet, for I fear if you decide to go with someone else, she'll be horribly disappointed."

He inclines his head in polite acknowledgement.

"I'm curious as to what Gildon has to offer," he states, wondering if their personal lives will play any part of further conversation. Did Matthew tell his wife about seeing Mary, about how the three of them met quite unexpectedly, about the conversation they had back in the private meeting room, about how pasts were faced head-on in a discussion that focused on the present? Do the details of their lovers' intermingled pasts have anything to do with the fact that she-Lavinia Crawley-is the face of Gildon Publishing currently sitting across from him and wearing a smile that reminds him uncannily of a young Mrs. Claus? Does she feel threatened now that Mary and Matthew are once again on cordial ground?

For that matter, does he?

He shakes his head, remembering what happened in her bed the past two nights, remembering I love you's and kisses and discussions about the possibility of having children in the future. He envisions how she looked as she broke apart around him, how she clinged to him just as tightly as he held on to her, how she marked him mind, body and soul as she breathed his name and urged him to come inside her.

Christ, he loves Mary.

"I'm glad," Lavinia smiles. "Because I plan on making you an offer that you cannot refuse."

He blinks and refocuses on his current surroundings, smiling at Lavinia as he attempts to settle his mind. But he cannot help but wonder what Mrs. Crawley thinks about his lover. And regardless of the deal presented to him today, will it be worth accepting if it means that he'd be dealing with Matthew's wife on a regular basis? How will Mary feel about all of this?

How the hell is he supposed to know when he's not even certain of how he feels about it himself?

"Then let's hear it," Rex states as the waiter returns to their table. "After we place our orders, that is."

Lavinia tosses him a look he can't quite decipher, and he silently curses to himself, knowing he should tell Mary about this coincidence but wanting to spare her from any further complications when he's already made her life complicated enough.

Shit. This isn't what he'd been expecting at all. What a day it's shaping up to be.


"Here. Let me."

Mary reaches up to straighten his tie, fixing it as they wait to be called back into Jane Brandon's office.

"Do I look less ogrish?" he asks, trying to smile through his nerves.

"Yes, actually," she replies. "You might actually pass for a toad today." He leans forward and dots a kiss to her lips, tossing her a sideways smile that makes her grin.

"I never thought I'd see this day," he hums as she steps back to inspect her work. "Shall I prepare a speech for the occasion?"

"Save the speeches for Miss Brandon," Mary advises, looking at the lawyer's door and willing it to open.

"And my ogrish side for you?" he teases, earning himself a clipped brow he'd like to eat.

"I suppose it's my lot in life," she states with an impassioned sigh. "Only we ice queens have the fortitude required to kiss an ogre."

"And only we ogres know how to make an Ice Queen beg for mercy," he whispers. "Over and over again."

"Don't flatter yourself," she tosses back, doing her best to look unaffected. But he spies the slight blush creeping up her neck, and he wants to kiss it, to kiss her, to pull her to him and shut out the rest of the world, even though he knows now is neither the time nor the place. So he clears his throat and breathes in and out, allowing Mary to see to his hair yet again.

"I thought you said I achieved toad status," he says as she draws her hands away from him.

"For Miss Brandon, I think we should strive for a prince."

He looks at her and sighs, his shoulders slumping forward as his past hits him with force.

"Then I'm doomed," he states.

"Hardly," she hums, cupping his cheek with her palm, melting his misgivings with a smile he lets pour over him like warm cider. He'd been amazed at how quickly Mary had located Miss Brandon, had been shocked by how easily they'd managed to get an appointment only two days later.

"How did you find her?" he'd asked while cooking dinner Monday night.

"A friend with inside information," she teased, doing her best to keep her tone light and her implications Matthew-free. "Unfortunately, many people have personal experiences with divorce."

"Well I appreciate it more than you know," he'd hummed, setting down his spatula to kiss her thoroughly.

She wishes she didn't feel so guilty about the whole damned thing.

"Mr. Blake?"

A blonde woman of average height walks towards them bedecked in a tasteful green suit and cream pumps.

"Miss Brandon," Charles says, taking her extended hand and shaking it. "Thank you so much for working us in."

"Please," Miss Brandon states as she offers her hand to Mary. "Call me Jane. And you must be Mary."

"Yes," Mary replies, shaking the woman's hand, reassured by the strength of her grip. "I'm very pleased to meet you."

"Don't be too pleased until we get what you've come for," Jane states, motioning the three of them towards her office. "Shall we?"

Mary swallows hard as Charles reaches out for her hand, his fingers cooler than she's ever felt them. If she hadn't realized before just how terrified he's been, the fact that his natural body heat has deserted him makes it painfully clear.

God, she hates Freda.

"I'm certain I can help you," Jane states forty-five minutes later after reviewing his documents and talking with both of them extensively. "Your soon to be ex-wife clearly instigated the separation and divorce proceedings, and she's currently engaged to Elliot Wafford." The lawyer chuckles to herself as she leans back in her leather desk chair. "That man hates me. You should know that before we proceed."

"Whatever for?" Mary asks, glad to feel heat returning to Charles's extremities.

"Because I always beat him," Jane states. "Elliot knows that if I'm representing the other party in a divorce hearing, it's time for him to either drop back and punt or give my client exactly what he or she wants."

Mary watches as the lawyer slides her feet out of her shoes, tossing them towards her bookcase without a single thought.

"I hate those bloody shoes," Jane murmurs as she studies a page from Charles's file. "High heels are a means of torturing women disguised as high fashion. They were clearly designed by men."

Mary smiles and stares down at her own heels, receiving a half-grin from Charles as he tosses her a wink.

"So you don't think there's anything to this current threat of Freda's?" he asks as he shifts in his seat.

"Her so-called ammunition?" Jane questions. "If you mean the fact that the two of you appeared in a few threads on social media after your book signing, then no. Your divorce is already in the works, and you didn't meet until one month ago. Regardless of whether or not you're actually serious about trying to start a family so early in a relationship has no bearing on all that has already transpired. Although personally, I'd recommend a few more months of birth control, just to be sure, regardless of just how adorable your readers seem to think you are."

It's now Mary's turn to shift in her seat.

"That being said," Jane continues, "I would advise that the pair of you keep a low profile until everything is official. It will make things easier for everyone."

"We can do that," Charles says, giving Mary's hand a soft squeeze. "I'm spending most of my time these days on my laptop writing, and I don't have another book signing scheduled for a month."

"Good," Jane returns, checking her calendar. "Alright then. Shall we see about scheduling a meeting with Elliot and Freda three weeks from today? Two o'clock?"

Mary sits up straighter in time with Charles.

"Why so long?" she asks.

"Because my schedule is already quite full," Jane replies. "It also gives the two of them some time to stew in the knowledge that I'm now representing you, a fact that will annoy the shit out of Elliot."

The lawyer tosses them a wink, and Charles actually chuckles for the first time today. Mary watches as his shoulders begin to relax, as the lines on his face begin to soften, as stress visibly begins a slow descent from his body, muscle by muscle, limb by limb.

"Three weeks from today it is," Charles says, letting go of her hand to plug the date into his phone. "Do I need to do anything between now and then?"

"Just live your lives," Jane replies with a shrug. "And refrain from any public displays of physical affection."

"You've got it," he returns as they stand and shake the lawyers hand.

"I like her," he states a few minutes later as he helps Mary into his car. "Thank you for locating her, darling."

"I like her, too," Mary says as she fastens her seatbelt. "And I think the fact that you're being represented by a woman will throw Freda for a loop."

He chuckles as he puts the key in the ignition.

"I'd rather throw her to the sharks," he admits, looking a bit sheepish at his own words.

"Get in line," she quips, earning herself a bright smile before he pulls into traffic.

"But seriously,' he continues as he looks into the rearview mirror. "Thank you for this, Mary. I don't know what sort of magic you wielded to get us a meeting with her so quickly, but I feel more optimistic about this divorce than I ever have."

She holds her breath, the truth of Matthew's involvement dangling on the tip of her tongue like bait on a hook.

"I'm glad," she finally states. "You'd resigned yourself to defeat, which is completely unlike you in most circumstances. By hiring Miss Brandon, you've finally evened the playing field, and that's going to drive Freda insane."

He finds her hand and brings it to his lips, kissing it tenderly without taking his eyes off of the road.

"To even playing fields," he muses, wondering what's stopping him from telling her about his meeting with Lavinia two days ago.

"To even playing fields," she returns, wishing she had the nerve to tell him about contacting Matthew to find a good lawyer.

They make love slowly that night, cresting and coasting into each other, her thoughts more at ease since she's resumed taking her birth control pills, her mind still unsure if the precaution is too little too late. He cradles her into his chest when they're both spent and sated, convincing himself that tomorrow he'll tell her of his newly forged work relationship with Lavinia, hoping she won't skin him alive at the knowledge that he didn't speak of it immediately. They toss and turn until each one of them finally surrenders to the sleep of the guilty, taunted by hovering secrets and what remains unspoken as former lovers goad their sleep in fitful dreams,