All Chapters of Chasing His Divorced Wife: Chapter 141 - Chapter 150

DAMIEN'S POVDaniel said yes on Wednesday.I called him from the office between meetings and explained what we wanted. Small, specific, language that meant something rather than language that covered the occasion. He was quiet for a moment after I finished and then said he'd be honored and that he'd need to talk to us both before August to understand what we actually wanted said.I told him that was exactly right.He asked one more thing before we hung up."Are you happy?" he said. Not perfunctorily. Actually asking."Yes," I said."Good." A pause. "She's good for you Damien. I've thought so for a while."I didn't tell Elara he'd said that. Some things were better kept as what they were. A quiet confirmation from someone who'd watched from a distance and seen clearly.She was at the desk when I got home.The new book, from the look of her. The particular forward lean she had when the writing was moving. I set my bag down quietly and went to the kitchen and made coffee without announci

DAMIEN'S POVEleanor Voss arrived on a Tuesday.Not the eighth. She'd called Elara Sunday to say her plans had shifted, could she come two days earlier, and Elara had said yes without checking with me because she knew the answer.I came home from the office to find the apartment smelling like something that involved garlic and herbs and the particular warmth of a kitchen being used by someone who cooked the way Elara's mother cooked. From memory. Without recipes.She was at the stove when I came in.Small woman. Elara's eyes in an older face. The kind of presence that occupied a room quietly but completely.She turned when she heard me."Damien." Warm, direct. No performance of warmth. Just the thing itself. "I hope you don't mind. I started dinner.""I don't mind at all.""Elara said you'd say that." She turned back to the stove. "She also said you'd mean it, which is different."I set my bag down and loosened my tie and came to the kitchen."Where is she," I said."Desk. She's been

DAMIEN'S POVEleanor cooked again Thursday.I came home to a different smell this time. Something slower, something that had been on the stove for hours, the kind of food that required time as an ingredient.Elara was at the desk. Eleanor was reading in the living room with her shoes off and her legs tucked under her, exactly like her daughter.She looked up when I came in."Lamb," she said. "Two more hours.""I wasn't going to ask.""You were going to smell it and wonder." She went back to her book. "Two more hours."I changed and came back and sat at the other end of the couch with my own reading and we occupied the room together in a silence that didn't require filling.Twenty minutes passed."She showed me the opening of the new book," Eleanor said without looking up."She showed you.""Three sentences. She read them aloud." She turned a page. "They're very good.""I know."Now she looked up. "She hasn't shown you.""Not yet.""But you know they're good.""She told me time disappea

DAMIEN'S POVWednesday I picked up the ring. Alone. Elara was writing and I left without telling her where I was going and walked to Capitol Hill in the March cold and collected it from Ada who handed it over in a small cloth pouch without ceremony.I opened it on the sidewalk outside.The difference was imperceptible visually. A quarter size. But Ada had said it would sit differently and I trusted that.I carried it home in my coat pocket.She was still at the desk when I got back.I set the pouch on the edge of the desk beside her laptop without interrupting. She looked at it, then at me, then picked it up and opened it.She put it on herself.Then she held her hand out and looked at it."Ada was right," she said."How does it feel.""Like it was made for this hand." She turned it slightly. "The before felt right. This feels exact."There was a difference. I understood it without needing it explained.She looked up at me."You went without telling me," she said."You were writing."

DAMIEN'S POVThe blue dress was right.She came out of the bedroom at seven-thirty and I was at the window with my jacket on and I turned and looked at her and didn't say anything for a moment."Where are we going," she said."You'll see.""Damien.""Trust me."She picked up her coat. "I already trust you. That's not the issue. I need to know if these shoes are right."I looked at the shoes."They're right," I said."You looked for half a second.""I have good instincts."She put her coat on and we went down to the street.The car took us to the West Village.Not the Italian place we'd been to before. A different street, a building she hadn't been to, a door with no sign that opened when I knocked.She looked at me."A members club?" she said."A private dining room. A friend's.""Which friend.""You'll meet him."Inside was warm and spare and beautifully lit in the way that required intention and money in equal measure. A man in his sixties met us at the entrance, silver-haired, the