Contractually Yours (The Lasker Brothers, #4)

by Nadia Lee

“They just want my money.” “More reason to stay and fight for what’s yours. If you leave, you’re surrendering. Instead, even the scales.” “How?” “Take away what they want the most from you. You said they want your money, so make sure they never get a penny. You’re young, so they’ll push back when you try. But keep on fighting until you win, no matter what it takes, or how long it takes. Don’t give them an inch.”

Still, there was a fire in her, although it was so weak, it was ready to be extinguished. I hope she didn’t let it die. My advice and encouragement wouldn’t have been enough unless she really wanted to do something about her situation. And I’ve followed my own advice, like we’re on a team working toward the same goal of evening the scales—as if that would keep the fire in her burning. Unrealistic, of course, but sometimes the most irrational things motivate me.

I want her to suffer, but at the same time, I want to shield her. The contradictory desires are annoying.

I’ve never had any expectations about a perfect marriage—not for myself, anyway. I’ve never sighed over a wedding dress, or daydreamed about what it’d be like to have a loving spouse and family, because none of that felt attainable.

Her smile grows diabolical. I love it. There are men who believe women are best when they’re endlessly patient, sweet, kind and understanding. Not me. The best women are the ones who take no bullshit, know what they’re worth and fight for what they’re due. Like my wife.

Sure, we share the same bed, have great sex and work well together. But that isn’t love. He’s never hinted he feels anything but mild affection for me, and I know better than to expect more. Men just don’t fall in love with me.

I read somewhere that victims sometimes blame themselves because they want to believe the world is logical and they need to cling to the belief that bad situations can be avoided if they themselves do better.

Mom tries to act calm and placid in public, but she has a temper that rivals an active volcano—loud, fiery and destructive.

“He’s being insubordinate, talking to you like that. You’re entitled to get rid of him for creating a hostile work environment. This is your kingdom, Luce. Defend it.”

“Only the people who are close enough to stick a knife in your back can betray you.”

The truth will set you free. That’s a lie. The truth is jagged shards of glass you breathe in, shards that shred you until you think you’ll never recover.

“Wouldn’t a violent storm leave destruction behind?” “Probably. But the air is clearer. And whoever is still alive has gained a little bit of confidence that they can survive something else like it in the future.” “So if another one comes…” “They ride it out.”

“You are worth it, Lucienne Peery. You are the prize. I can do this over and over again until you believe that.”

“And if I see other men?” I say, looking up at him. “That would be terrible.” “Terrible how?” “Well, you know. Young men, in their prime. Dying so early.” His tone is light, but his eyes blaze. “You’re jealous.” “Yep.” “And possessive.” “Only an idiot wouldn’t be possessive of the only woman he wants.” Well, there it is. “The only one, huh? You sure about that?” “Very.” I sit up. “Then show me.”

“You’re the moon in my night sky. I’m just putting a few stars around you so you can shine even brighter.”