Divorce Me Once, Your Loss

Brianna

I hear the slam of papers on the mahogany desk in front of me before my vision zeroes in on the document.

“Sign it!”

I blink back the sudden tears that sting my eyes. “What are those?”

“Divorce papers,” Nico grunts like he prefers to be anywhere but here, “sign the papers.”

Nico has been my husband for one year. One year and two days if I am being precise, and I can count the number of times I’ve seen him in the past one year on one hand and that’s including the press conferences we had to attend.

“Why are you hesitating, Bri? It’s one year already.”

He is right. The contract was meant to last for one year alone, the contract that meant he had me as a wife instead of the woman he initially wanted – my sister, Arianna. It’s no news to me that my husband hates me as much as one does his archenemy because he believes I took away the opportunity for him to be with Arianna, when he did that himself. It’s no news to me that I can never be her in his eyes, but don’t blame me if I didn’t want to sign the papers that will mean I am back to being plain old Briana Page again.

Don’t blame me if I wanted more out of my miserable life.

My palms are sweaty all of a sudden so I dry it out on my loose fitting dress. “It’s just so . . . final.”

Nico’s eyes follow the movement of my hands, disapproval stretching itself on his gorgeous face.

“Final?” he smirks and rummages his drawers for a pen. “Come the fuck on,” he snaps, “we were barely even married. We saw each other like what – twice?”

“Still—” being married to Nico Armani came with it some kind of respect and status I’ve never had while growing up. The kind my sister always had and I always craved. And it didn’t matter that we stayed in two different houses or that he hated my guts because I reminded him too much of the girl he could never have, or that his family maltreated me whenever we met, but no matter how non-existent my married life seemed and how cold and nonchalant my husband is, being married to him was the only thing that had any semblance of stability in my life.

“What the fuck are you waiting for? Sign the papers.”

My breath is fogging up the lens of my huge glasses and I wipe it off before I say, “I need to . . . think about this be –”

“There is nothing to think about. The contract is over, your father drew it up himself. The debt is paid and I don’t have to pretend I like being married to you any longer than I like stubbing my own foot. Sign the papers so we can get on with our lives--”

The door to his office cracks open and his secretary pops his head in. A gangly-looking dude in his early twenties.

“She is here, sir,” the man says after a brief nod to me, “Miss Carla.”

Nico’s expression softens a tiny bit, “Tell her to hold on. I’m in the middle of concluding a deal.”

Carla – his mistress. Nico is only this coldhearted to me. He treats his mistress way better than he does me. After all, she lives with him and I live in an entire separate house.

“…in the middle of concluding a deal . . .”

That’s what our marriage has been reduced to. Some ‘deal’ he is in a jiffy to conclude to go lay with his mistress.

His words stings deeply so I hold back the tears welling in my eyes and without thinking blurt out, “You mean so you can go back to fucking your red-haired mistress?”

He makes a low growling sound and springs to his feet. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

I swallow. I’ve seen Nico angry in the past but I’ve never had that anger directed at me before.

I take a step back. “I mean—”

In one move, he lunges at me, pressing me against the wall as he towers over me in an imposing stance.

“Listen here, Briann,” he spits out, “for the past one year you have been nothing but a baggage to me. A baggage passed down from your father to me and now I’m returning the favor. I wanted Arianna, you know that’s who I wanted. And in a twist of fate, I got you instead. Now you either sign those papers or you wouldn’t have fingers to have the liberty of making a fucking choice.”

I wipe my face with the back of my hand, slowly taking in the features of the face I’m never going to see again. The hard fine set of his brows, the deep brown of his eyes, the chiseled jaw, hard set dimples . . .

I swallow. “Fine.”

He shoves the pen into my hand and tugs at my elbow till I am standing in front of the table again.

With shaky fingers, I scribble my signature on all copies and straighten, “It is done.”

“Good,” he forcefully shoves the papers into an envelope and returns to his seat, “the lawyer will get to you. As agreed you get to keep the house you live in but from now on,” he smirks like nothing in this life can ever make him happier than divorcing me, “you are no longer an Armani.”

On my way out, I catch a glimpse of Carla in the hallway – tall, bold, confident.

She smirks as she walks past me, her perfume filling my nostrils in an unwelcome fit.

“Good riddance,” she drawls in a sultry tone, “I was wondering when it was time to get rid of you. Was actually starting to get worried.”

The repetitive click of her red bottom heels on her way to his office sticks to my head as I make my way out of the massive building of his company.

But that is not the only sound perching itself to my memory.

Nico’s words also stick to my brain as I leave repeating itself on a loop . . . “You are no longer an Armani.”

Question is, to him was I ever an Armani?