“Yes. You know him?”

“No,” I say too quickly.

“Of course, you do. The politician. He’s the new Deputy Prime Minister. Everyone knows him.”

Relief fills me as I realize how this looks, I should know him. “Oh, yes, I see. I knew the name sounded familiar.”

My thoughts flash back to our fight in the cloak room the other night, and I have to force it from my mind.

“So, what do you think?” Helena asks.

“About?”

“The dog,” she snaps, exasperated.

I sit back, and I hate to admit it, but I really don’t like this woman. “Helena… let me ask you something: why do you want Bentley?”

“I’m entitled to more of his estate.”

“But you already got everything.”

“He has much more now.”

“But you’re not married to him now.”

“Are you going to help me or not?”

I begin to lose my patience with her. “Helena, there isn’t a judge on Earth that would grant you more of an estate that you have already settled on.”

“Yes, well, we’ll see about that, won’t we?” She stands in huff and throws her handbag around her shoulder. “Goodbye, Miss Bennet. I wish I could say that you’ve been helpful.” She stomps toward the door. “But that would be a complete lie, wouldn’t it? I don’t appreciate you wasting my time.”

She disappears through the door, and it slams hard on her release.

God.

What a fucking bitch.

I pull up the records she submitted when she booked her appointment. I can’t believe he married a witch like her. What the hell was Sebastian thinking?

Actually, who am I to talk?

I married an asshole, too.

I go back through the notes and search for the date of the last settlement.

February. Seven years ago.

I work out the dates, that was just over twelve months before he met me. I scan the file until I get their marriage and separation details. They were married for five years until he discovered that she was having an affair with the gardener. I exhale heavily, knowing too well how that feels.

I wonder if he walked in on them doing the deed like I did.

Poor bastard. He would have been badly burnt, and then he thought that I…

Stop it! Do not dare to make excuses for that man.

His wife is a bitch, but that doesn’t excuse his behavior. He’s an asshole, and if truth be told, they probably deserve each other. Who knows how many affairs he had on her with his visits sex clubs for Christs sake?

Ugg, why am I even thinking about his side of the story? Who cares anyway?

I read over the notes and go through Helena’s history. She doesn’t work. Of course, she doesn’t. She’s too busy living off of her ex-husband.

With a heavy exhale, I throw the file into the cabinet. I know she’s going to go to another lawyer. I also know that another lawyer won’t be able to touch her, but nothing surprises me these days. As long as I’m not the lawyer, I don’t care.

The tree casts a shadow on the wall. It’s 1:00 a.m., but I haven’t slept.

I can’t.

I keep going over the argument I had with Sebastian and the way I hit him. I can still hear the crack as my hand connecting with his face.

Why did I slap him?

That’s not who I am—not even close. I’m not violent, and I’ve never hit a man before.

Imagine if he slapped me and how outraged I would be.

God, it’s just another low point that I wish never happened. Sebastian Garcia seems to bring out the best of them… low points, that is.

I stare into the darkness some more as my mind wanders. Deputy Prime Minister.

How the hell did he get that position? Was he a politician when I knew him before? I think back to any sign I may have missed, but I can’t think of anything. There were no signs but I didn’t really know anything much about him then. We were too busy fucking like rabbits.

I thought he was just an architect.

Maybe that was all bullshit. Architects don’t become Deputy Prime Ministers. I walk out into the living room, turn the light on, and I open my laptop. I want answers. I want to know when and how.

I type his name into Google and scroll through to Wikipedia.

Sebastian Garcia.

Named the people’s politician, Sebastian Garcia is a 42-year-old English architect. Garcia began his political career when consulting for the (then) town planner Thomas Harvey. Since he had been active in the role for several years, on Thomas’s retirement, Garcia was voted as the Minister of Town Planning. With a reputation for being ruthless and a clear vision of protecting the common people, Sebastian Garcia does not shy away from being controversial.

He made his first political impression when he publicly called out the Prime Minister in a press release over a reneged promise on the development of the M4 motorway. Garcia demanded that the Prime Minister keep his promise and reroute the motorway to a safer position for the surrounding suburbs that were to be demolished.

With his fuss free, no frills approach, he deservedly earned the respect amongst his peers, and over the following three years, was voted up throughout the ranks.

In the worst kept secret of parliament, it has been revealed that Garcia is making most of the planning and budget decisions. Prime Minister, Theodore Holsworthy, and Garcia clash heads often, having had many public exchanges.

Speculation circulates how long Holsworthy can hold his party votes with Sebastian Garcia tipped to be the next Prime Minister of the United Kingdom.

I sit back in my chair in surprise. Wow.

Well… kudos to him, I suppose.

I stand, fill the kettle, and I turn the television on. I flick through the channels knowing it’s going to be another long night. I’m not sleeping well. I haven’t been since seeing Sebastian last week. I keep going over and over everything thing we said to each other… including the way he looked. The feelings.

So many unfinished feelings.

Most of all, I think about the anger he brought out in me.

But, regardless of any of those things, I should never have slapped him.

It was a shitty thing to do, guilt doesn’t feel very nice.

There’s a knock at my door, and I look up from my computer.

“Come in.”

“Hello, April?” A distinguished looking man steps forward with a broad smile on his face. “I’m Bart McIntyre.”