Undressed By His Legal Services: Marry Me Again

”Hmmm.” Dorian hummed. ”At least it protects Naomi from public scrutiny for a bit,”

”And private scrutiny?”

That was the other problem.

The Heathcliffes.

”I’ll handle my family.”

Adrian gave a tiny chuckle. ”Yeah, you will.”

Dorian gave him a dirty look. Adrian lifted one hand.

”I’ll just go.” He pointed toward the door, in the direction of his desk.

”Yes,” Dorian said. ”That would be wise.”

*****

Dorian arrived at the restaurant at exactly nine p.m. Camille, naturally, did not. He checked his watch even though there was absolutely no need.

Nine on the dot. Which meant he had at least thirty minutes before his ex-wife decided to grace him with her presence.

Dorian was used to it. Camille made entrances. There would probably be a photograph outside first. Maybe a short video informing her followers what she was wearing, where she was going and why they should care. Then she would eventually stroll into the restaurant looking as though the entire building had been constructed specifically to receive her.

Tonight would be even worse. Dinner with her ex-husband? She would milk that for everything it was worth.

By tomorrow morning, half her followers would probably believe they were reconciling. Dorian sighed.

It didn’t matter. Everything could wait. He only needed a few minutes to tell her exactly what he had called her here to say anyway.

He took his seat at the private table he had reserved and ordered a bottle of Château Margaux. If he was going to spend part of his evening telling Camille to stop using Naomi as material for her social media circus, he deserved good wine.

The waiter poured him a glass. Dorian took a sip and checked his watch again. Nine-oh-four. Twenty-six minutes to go, if Camille was feeling unusually considerate.

He reached for his phone. There were emails. Messages from the firm. Two missed calls from his mother.

A text from his father that simply read:

Call your mother.

Dorian ignored all of them. Then he remembered the link Adrian had sent earlier with Naomi’s social media page. He opened their conversation and clicked it. Her profile loaded.

Food.

That was the first thing he noticed. So much food. Beautifully arranged plates. Things he could not immediately identify but would happily eat if someone put them in front of him.

There were short videos explaining recipes, photographs from kitchens, pictures of her holding enormous mixing bowls and posts about ingredients he had never willingly thought about in his life.

Dorian scrolled. For someone who talked constantly, Naomi revealed remarkably little online. There were no photographs of her family.

No personal relationship updates. Her page revolved almost entirely around being a chef. Occasionally pictures of herself with food.

Those were the posts Dorian found himself slowing down on. Naomi beside a ridiculous birthday cake.

Naomi holding a tray of pastries and grinning at the camera. Naomi in a chef’s jacket, flour on her nose, laughing at something outside the frame.

He stopped scrolling.

That laugh.

He could almost hear it. It was the same infectious laugh that filled his otherwise silent house and somehow made him want to laugh too, even when he had no idea what she found so amusing.

Dorian enlarged the photograph. She looked happy. His thumb hovered over the screen. Social media was such bullshit.

Anyone looking at this page would assume she lived an uncomplicated life filled with beautiful food and constant laughter.

Nobody would know there was something damaged underneath. He had seen it. The ways she would suddenly go sad in the middle of a conversation.

He continued scrolling. The number of followers at the top caught his attention. He frowned. ”That’s pathetic.”

Considering how good some of the food looked, he expected far more. Maybe she was terrible at marketing herself.

His thumb moved. He hesitated over the Follow button. Why the hell would he follow her? They were already married. He knew where she lived.

She was about to move into his house. Following her online seemed almost redundant.

Still...

He pressed it.

Done.

He had absolutely no idea why. He simply wanted to. That realization irritated him enough that he immediately took another drink of wine. He continued down the page. He already knew more about her past than she probably realized.

Adrian’s report had been thorough. Her mother had killed her father. Even reading the bare facts had raised questions.

Dorian had seen enough murder files to know that the version presented in a conviction was not always the whole story.

And if there was one thing he understood better than almost anyone, it was how badly poor legal representation could destroy a person’s life.

From what he had seen of the case? He could get it thrown out. Truthfully, the lawyer in him was practically salivating at the prospect.

One phone call and he could probably have the original case file on his desk by morning. He wanted to.

If she ever opened that door, though... He would jump at it.

A new recipe video started playing silently. She appeared on screen smiling, talking with her hands while explaining something about pastry dough.

Dorian watched longer than necessary. Then caught himself. He locked the phone and put it facedown on the table.

Camille finally arrived with the kind of gorgeous smile that had probably sold skincare, perfume and whatever else brands paid her to pretend she could not live without. ”Hey, love...”

Before Dorian could respond, she leaned toward him, held up her phone and snapped a picture of them together.

Camille checked the photo, apparently decided she looked good enough, then slid into the chair opposite him. She tucked her phone into her bag.

Good.

She still remembered the rules. ”I was very excited when Adrian called,”

”You shouldn’t be.”

Camille’s smile faltered then she rolled her eyes. ”Don’t be like that, Dorian.”

He lifted his glass of Château Margaux and took a slow sip.

”Is this because of the live I did yesterday?” she asked. ”Oh, come on. Everyone needs to know your latest boo.” she said flippantly. ”It’s great for your image and apparently hers. No one knew who Naomi Bennett was two days ago.”