Ripping Off the Apron

Back in the day, in the legal world, Finn Cross and I were the top dogs. Untouchable.

He ran New York, a king in criminal defense, never lost a case.

I held down Boston, crushing it in civil court.

People in the biz used to say it was a good thing we weren't in the same city.

If we were, we’d have gone head-to-head, and it was anyone's guess who'd come out on top.

But they never would've guessed.

Three years ago, I, Victoria Sterling, quietly married Finn Cross.

And just like that, the legend of "Vicky" was locked away.

I was willing to leave my career behind, to be the quiet, supportive woman behind the great man.

I made his coffee, went with him to all sorts of events, and left a light on for him when he came home late.

But when Elena, the one he’d always carried a torch for, showed up again, I couldn't keep up this charade anymore.

...

I was standing by the huge glass window of our Mount Pleasant mansion.

I hesitated for maybe three seconds, then dialed the number I hadn’t called in three years.

"Vickyyyyy?" Ryan’s voice on the other end was shaking. "You’re actually calling me! I can’t believe it!"

"I’m coming back to the firm," I said, my voice soft.

Silence for three seconds. Then, a shriek.

"Oh my god, are you serious?!" Ryan practically shouted, scrambling to his feet and nearly knocking a pile of files off his desk. "This is amazing! Ever since you stepped away, Finn’s snatched dozens of major criminal cases right out from under us! We’re barely hanging on! Three years, Vicky, you have no idea."

"All these years, so many of your old clients have been holding out, waiting for you. The second word gets out you're back, the whole legal world is going to lose its mind!"

I slowly looked up, staring at my reflection in the window.

My hair fell softly around my shoulders.

The black knit sweater washed me out, making my face look pale and drained.

My apron still had a few splatters of butter from making Finn’s eggs this morning.

The perfect picture of a stay-at-home wife.

No one would ever guess this was the "Queen of Civil Litigation" who could back Wall Street hotshots into a corner.

"And, hey, after all this time, has Finn figured out who you really are? Did he say it was okay for you to…"

"He won't have a say much longer. I'm getting a divorce," I cut him off. "The next time we meet, it'll be in court."

After I hung up, I was about to head back to the bedroom when my phone lit up.

A text from Finn:

[Pick me up at The Crown. Nine. Drunk.]

I stared at the message.

No please, no thanks.

He hadn't changed a bit in three years.

Always barking orders at me, like I was just another employee.

I changed into a black dress and drove to the private club.

Just as I was about to push open the door to the VIP room, I heard laughter.

"Finn, how many wins is that in a row? You're a living legend! Is there any case in the whole legal world you can't crack? Seriously, even God would have to bow down to you."

"Hold on now," another voice chimed in. "Wasn't there that Vicky chick who was pretty much his equal back in the day? Too bad she just vanished three years ago. Poof, gone."

"Probably settled down, family life, you know? It's been three years. Bet she’s got a kid walking by now. Doubt she'll ever come back."

"Well, our top lawyer Finn’s been married three years too, right? Forget about kids, he practically lives at the office, never wants to go home. But Finn, seriously, after all this time, are you still so cold to Victoria?"

"Duh! Finn can't stand those sweet, domestic types like Victoria. If she hadn't crawled into his bed when he was drunk, why would he have married her? Finn likes strong, independent women who can stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him. Like Elena. Even after all these years, he's still totally hung up on her."

When Elena’s name hit my ears, a chill flickered in my eyes, and I pushed the door open.

The whole room went dead silent.

Everyone just stared at each other.

I ignored them.

I scanned the room and saw Finn, completely out of it, slumped on the sofa with his eyes closed.

His handsome, stern face looked dark and hard to read in the dim lights of the room.

I walked over and helped him up.

His arm pressed down on my shoulder, the weight nearly making me stumble.

That familiar Tom Ford cologne mixed with the smell of whiskey hit me, and for a second, I felt a little dazed.

The last time we’d been this close was that ridiculous night three years ago.

Just as I got him settled in the back seat of the car, he suddenly grabbed my wrist and pulled me into his arms.

Then, his lips were on mine, warm and crushing. Aggressive.

I froze.

In three years of marriage, besides that one accident, he’d never once kissed me on his own.

His tongue, tasting of alcohol, pushed into my mouth, roughly exploring.

I could barely breathe, but I couldn't stop myself from sinking into it.

Until he mumbled a name in his haze: "Elena…"

So, he thought I was someone else.