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The sun was setting over the horizon of Delpha when Damen received his last client of the day in his office. An anxious veretian entered, almost unsure about what he was doing there.
— Mm… a friend recommended I consult with you… I wanted… to get a divorce.
Another divorce request. Damen refrained from rolling his eyes.
He invited him to sit down and explained the process as simply as possible, without losing sight of how his new client’s fingers twisted nervously in his lap.
— Can I ask what the reason is?
— Irreconcilable differences.
He had clearly Googled that answer, but it was fine. There would be time to uncover all the ins and outs of the case and prepare.
Damianos gave the man a summary of how things could turn out—the positive outcomes, the negative ones… and the fees. Estienne Desjardins paid in cash without hesitation. That was the spirit!
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It didn’t take him long to draft the divorce petition for the Marlas Court and the corresponding notification for the other party: Laurent Revere.
Damen sent the papers, got distracted chatting with his secretary about the terrible weather in Delpha lately, and returned to his routine without thinking too much about the case. Divorces bored him, even when there was drama involved. Maybe it was his resentful heart over that family matter he didn’t like to talk about, or simply Damen’s romantic soul feeling a certain disdain for those who took the breaking of such important life vows so lightly (“in good times and bad, in sickness and health, until death do us part”).
It was just another divorce in the pile of divorces he’d handled. He had better things to do.
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The response didn’t take long to arrive. Laurent Revere wasn’t demanding any typical division of assets. He seemed to want to take everything.
A dirty, materialistic, and selfish veretian — how typical.
If it hadn’t been for Damen’s patient intervention, Estienne would have signed away even his underwear. With great tact, he encouraged Mr. Desjardins to fight for what was rightfully his. His horrible, soon-to-be-ex-husband had no right to leave him in ruins.
In the end, Estienne shelled out more money for Damen’s bills and left convinced that they could sit down to negotiate.
His opinion of veretians never seemed to improve with each client who passed through his office. Between this obvious gold-digger looking to fleece poor Estienne, and the poor Estienne suffering from doormat syndrome, Damen could only complain to his secretary while checking the time on his wristwatch and saying goodbye.
After a couple of calls with opposing counsel, a date was set for mediation.
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Mr. Desjardins and Damen arrived early, so they took seats in the chosen mediator’s office and waited. It was too early, it was raining outside, and he wished he’d stayed in bed half an hour longer.
The court’s coffee was disgusting. Damen kept the small disposable cup close, regretting not having mentioned the quality of supplies to Nikandros the last time they’d met in the Supreme Court hallways. It wouldn’t hurt for his friend, who was in the middle of a political campaign, to score some points with the locals and get them a better brunch than what the sad buffet at the end of the hall offered. He should have stopped by his favorite specialty coffee shop before what would surely be a session of shouting, demands, and typical accusations. Those beans imported from Kempt were…
Mr. Revere entered, accompanied by his lawyer, and Damen spilled a bit of his coffee on his leg.
Icy-blue eyes fixed on poor Estienne with the sharpness of a knife… yet it didn’t compare to the edge of the smile that curved his lips.
— It’s good to see you, mon cher.
His client seemed to be trembling.
Damen was hypnotized.
Golden hair, long to the shoulders, and clearly natural. Pale skin with a few moles that, with a good glass of Aegina wine, Damen could compare to stars forming a constellation. Slender but undoubtedly athletic, with a narrow waist and long legs. Dressed in black in a discreetly formal outfit and a heavy dark blue coat suited to the week’s weather, Mr. Revere looked like something out of one of those fantasies of a nineteen-year-old Damen starting law school with the utopian dream of defending the innocent, shouting “objection” in a big trial and coming home to a blond beauty waiting for him in nothing but an apron on the kitchen counter.
A wonderful first meeting, ha.
Once everyone was seated, the mediator started explaining the rules: no insults, no raising voices, logical arguments, no rambling blah, blah, blah.
Damen spent the time staring at Mr. Revere’s lips while Mr. Revere later kept his eyes fixed on his soon-to-be-ex-husband as if he could make him drop dead with sheer mental force.
— I find it amusing that you filed for our divorce citing “irreconcilable differences” and yet refuse to give me what I’m entitled to from this marriage, when the real reason should be “I betrayed my husband by facilitating his criminal uncle’s attempt to kill him”. But I’m generous, and the fact that I’m sitting here negotiating with you instead of just taking you to court and filing a complaint as his collaborator should give you an idea that I don’t want this to end badly between us.
Well, shit.
.
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He had to drag the whole story out of Estienne afterward. This wasn’t a simple divorce, after all.
Apparently, Mr. Revere’s (or Laurent, as he called him in his head, where they’d already moved past formalities and Damen was inviting him for a drink with dubious intentions) uncle had wanted to murder his nephew once and for all to remove him from the family coffers, which were apparently overflowing with money. Estienne had let himself be deceived by that man’s charisma and had taken his side. It had been easy to believe that his silent, cold husband had issues and needed help and intervention. It had never crossed his mind that maybe — just maybe — his husband’s warnings about his uncle were true and that he couldn’t trust the man.
The disaster had been inevitable, but in the end, the evil uncle had been placed in custody with a rather long and dark list of crimes. Laurent had survived and had told Estienne he was an idiot incapable of thinking with his only two neurons, and that he’d undoubtedly married a pushover too easily manipulated.
There were other insults more specific to Estienne’s virility, which were what pushed him to file for divorce in a fit of wounded pride… a pride that wore off like a bucket of cold water when he realized what he was getting into.
As he listened to the story, Damen could only wonder how the hell a guy like Estienne had seduced and put a ring on someone like Laurent’s finger.
(Maybe Laurent liked pathetic little men? Hmm, maybe he was the type who preferred giving orders and watching his man shrink into something compliant. Damen was the complete opposite of Estienne, but maybe he could show Laurent that other roads led to Rome.)
The mediation session led nowhere, and Laurent seemed more than willing to take it all to court if necessary. His justification for demanding the largest percentage of assets in the separation was basic and reasonable: compensation for emotional damage, household tasks almost always falling on Laurent while Estienne worked… and the house had been Laurent’s from the beginning, though it had been put in Estienne’s name to avoid the sticky hands of the evil uncle on the property.}
Well, there wasn’t much Damen could do.
At this point, he could only recommend that Estienne sign whatever Laurent asked for, pay his fees, and leave him his ex’s phone number so Damen could contact him and offer his services if needed. All very professional, of course.
He watched his client leave like a defeated man without feeling too much pity. He dodged his secretary’s questioning look (he hoped Erasmus wasn’t gossiping with Nikandros about Damen’s sudden interest in this particular client — or rather, his soon-to-be-ex-husband — because he wasn’t in the mood for late dinners with his overly paranoid friend about blond-haired people) and locked himself in his office with a good cup of coffee and a lot of curiosity to feed.
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The mediator was late this time, so they had to wait in the family court hallway until someone opened the office.
Estienne took exactly two minutes to break and literally kneel in front of Laurent.
— Please, I know I made horrible mistakes that hurt you. I know I promised to be loyal to you and protect you and…
Laurent remained impassive, dark sunglasses on, without lowering his gaze to his pathetic husband clinging to his coat like a shipwreck survivor. Dr. Berenger just shook his head, quite embarrassed by all the drama, and tried to approach Estienne to lift him and pull him away from his blond and cold client, but Desjardins paid no attention. Damen leaned against the wall, sighing.
Something told him that, behind the dark sunglasses, Laurent’s gaze was on him.
Perfect.
He’d loosened his tie and shirt a little, just a little. One unbuttoned button could work magic, and he knew it. Leaning as he was, his figure stood out appropriately without losing the air of a disinterested lawyer that he hoped would catch the veretian’s attention.
It was a shame the sunglasses didn’t let him see Laurent’s eyes, but he’d settle for now.
This was the first step.
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Finally, an agreement was reached that clearly benefited Laurent. But that wasn’t the point.
In a few weeks, the papers would be ready, signed, and Laurent would be a free man… free in the sense of single and free in the sense of “it’s unethical to hit on your client’s ex, Damianos”.
Nikandros would never let him hear the end of it.
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There weren’t tears when the new ex-spouses met to sign.
There was, however, a certain sentimentality Damen hadn’t expected from Laurent: soft words, a slightly melancholy look.
— I married you to get out of that house because he would never have let me leave alive on my own. They were pleasant years, and you were kind. Thank you. I’m sorry that…
The sentence wasn’t finished, just tightly pressed lips and a quick signature.
Estienne looked sad but resigned.
— Being married to you was a dream. Thank you for giving me a chance, even when I know it wasn’t what you would have wanted.
Signatures done. Divorce official.
Estienne said goodbye to Damen promising the final payment would be deposited that same afternoon, and left quickly. Dr. Berenger also disappeared before Damen could exchange a few words with him, his footsteps echoing down the hallway where a redheaded guy was waiting with car keys jingling in the air. Laurent waved a hand, barely a smile on his face, but it was enough for a “Congratulations on your divorce, Laurent” to be shouted from the other end of the hall.
Only they remained.
— Well, I thought it would be worse, don’t you think? — Laurent’s blue eyes blessed him with an icy stare, and Damen responded by smiling and extending his hand. — Damianos Vallis. A pleasure.
— You already introduced yourself at the first meeting.
The tone didn’t dissuade him at all. Damen always enjoyed a good challenge. Any other man would have run. Damen didn’t.
He still had to figure out how Estienne had managed to marry the man in front of him. After all, one man’s mistakes could be another man’s successes, and Damen had always preferred learning from experience rather than books.
— Yeah… but as your ex-husband’s lawyer. Now it’s different, isn’t it?
The golden eyebrows furrowed a bit, but there was no real displeasure on his face, so Damen kept his arm extended, waiting. He was just testing the waters. He couldn’t dive in headfirst and ruin everything.
An eternal pause, and against all odds, Laurent played along and shook his hand.
— I suppose… Laurent Revere. Newly divorced.
Damianos smiled.
This was an excellent beginning.
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