And then, after they’d kissed, when she’d leaned in for a hug before they’d left to pick up the kids, he knew. This was it. This time it was really real. She was the one. She had thanked him for taking it slow and he’d decided right then and there that she could have all the time she needed because this time, for her, he had all the time in the world.
He had cleaned the upstairs bathrooms and the downstairs powder room and was about to start on the kitchen floor when the doorbell rang. It was just after nine on a Saturday morning.
“Who could this be?” he wondered, making his way through the house. Kate was still asleep and he would hazard a guess that all of her friends were, too. Maybe it was Sarah?
He whipped the door open and was surprised to see a courier.
“I have a package for Jonathan Marshall.”
“That’s me.”
“Sign here, sir.”
He scrawled his signature on the handheld screen and returned the stylus to the driver, who handed over the envelope in exchange.
Puzzling over who would send him something by courier, he shut the door and studied the package on his way back to the kitchen. It was from a law firm in Vancouver.
The law firm that had represented Georgette during the divorce.
A sick feeling pooled in his gut.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
JONATHAN TOSSED THE envelope onto the kitchen island, poured himself a cup of coffee and sat sipping it while he studied the return address some more.
“Maybe it’s not that bad.”
Right. When had Georgette’s lawyer ever delivered good news? That would be never. One thing was clear, though. He wouldn’t know until he opened it.
“Like ripping off a bandage,” he muttered to himself, as he tore the tab off the packet and pulled out a thin sheaf of documents. The top sheet was an application to change an existing court order. In the case between Georgette Ogilvie and Jonathan Marshall...
She had filed an application to the court, asking to have the existing custody agreement canceled—a copy of which was attached—and grant full custody to her. He slammed the pages onto the counter.
What was she thinking?
When she’d moved to Europe, she hadn’t wanted to have Kate with her. She and Xavier had a busy schedule, traveling from country to country. At the time she had agreed that her lifestyle didn’t provide a stable environment for a young teen. So now...what? Had she had a change of heart? Was she punishing him? Trying to ruin Kate’s life because the kid had made one stupid mistake?
And what had he been thinking that night?
He never should have called Georgette, plain and simple. He understood where Sarah had been coming from, but he should have gone with his gut. Sarah didn’t know Georgette. He did.
He grabbed his phone and brought up Georgette’s number. “We’ll just see about this.”
“Hello, Jon. Or should I say buongiorno. Is everything okay?” She’d put on her old news anchor voice, smooth as silk and sticky as a spider’s web.
“I was going to ask you the same thing. I just received a package from your lawyer.”
“Oh, you have it already. Good. I asked him if I should call you, let you know it was on its way, but he advised against that.”
Of course he did. Much better for Jon to be completely blindsided.
He stood at the sliding doors, stared into the distance without fully registering the fog-draped trees and rooftops below. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because you’re obviously not up to the task of raising a rebellious teenager.”
“She’s not rebellious. She’s fitting in well, she’s already made new friends, her grades are good.” What more could either of them ask?
“Jon, you’re not being reasonable. Just the other day she ran away and had to be picked up by the police. Can you imagine how I felt, knowing that my daughter was sitting in a jail cell?”
And here comes the drama. “Our daughter was not in a cell. Kate and her friend were sitting in an office drinking sodas when we arrived.”
“How wonderful for them. Sounds like a real party. The bottom line is that she’s obviously not getting the supervision she needs. So we—Xavier and I—talked it over and decided the best thing for everyone is for Kate to come over here to go to school.”
He nearly dropped the phone on the floor, which was right about where his jaw was. “Last weekend you said you were in London.” Judging by the way she’d answered his call, this week it was Milan. “Where are you this week? Italy? How’s she supposed to attend school on that kind of schedule?”
“She won’t be traveling with us, except on holidays. There are lots of excellent English-speaking boarding schools over here. Italy, France, Switzerland, they all have them. She’ll meet interesting people, learn new languages. She’ll be better prepared for a successful career and she’ll certainly see more of the world than if she stays in some poky little west coast town no one’s ever heard of.”