CHAPTER 78
“In Hollywood, brides keep the bouquets and throw away the groom.”
~ Groucho Marx
Nadia was, as always, flawless. Cole studied her face, the perfect lines of her makeup, and wondered, as he often had, why she bothered with the team that arrived every morning, equipped with makeup brushes and extensions, their home’s dressing room turned into a circus for a valuable hour in the morning that’d be better served sleeping. She didn’t need all of it; she was beautiful without it. And for a day like today, for her to know she’d be sitting across from him, her jilted husband, the extra effort seemed cruel. But that was Nadia. She’d always wanted everyone to want her, especially those who she rejected. She looked up from the document and met his eyes.
“You have beautiful eyes.” The first line after their first screw, which had happened minutes after he’d walked into his trailer and found her stretched out on his bed. She’d said the word shyly, her feet sliding to the edge of the bed and off, and he’d shrugged.
“Thank you.” That had been his unimaginative response. He hadn’t needed imagination.
“They distract from your nose.” She had wrinkled her own and raised to her tiptoes, the movement pushing out her bare breasts. From her new height she had peered at his nose, then dropped to her heels again. Her breasts had bounced back into place; he had stared. “I have a guy, if you want a referral. He did my roommate’s nose. Really great work.”
“My nose?” It had drawn his attention away from her breasts and to her eyes. “Are you joking?” Even then, he’d been a superstar, one Oscar already in the bag. And his nose, broken twice—once from a fight and once from a snowboarding injury—was one of his trademarks. It took the polish off his pretty boy features and made him rugged. Now, looking back, he could see how calculated she’d been. Playing the part of the cool girl who wasn’t impressed by the big star. She’d played him hot and cold, didn’t fuck him again until a third date, and had him tie her up on the fifth. She’d been a porn star in the bedroom and used every bit of his money, power, and name to fuel her own star. She’d been an unscripted extra on that first movie. On his second, she’d played a minor role with lines. Then graduated to supporting roles. Five days after their wedding—a gaudy affair that had made every magazine cover—she got her first big-budget, starring role. From nothing to famous in a year.
He hadn’t been stupid; he’d known her ambition. It had been one of the things that had attracted him to her. And he’d been happy to help. But now, glancing down at the agreement, red pen marks all over the page, he wondered if there had ever been any love between them at all. Had he just been a mark, perfectly played?
“Okay, so we’ve worked through all of the assets. Cole will get the boat, plane, and the Montana ranch; Nadia will get the California and Hawaii real estate. All bank accounts will go to their respective owners with the joint account split, leaving five hundred thousand for any outstanding items and attorneys’ fees. Attorneys’ fees will also be split. Nadia’s future earnings will be hers, as will Cole’s.” The mediator stopped and looked to DeLuca, a stumble in her voice before continuing, “Nadia has agreed to forfeit all ownership or claims on The Fortune Bottle in exchange for five percent of recurring royalties on Cole’s current backlist of movies and endorsement deals.” She took a deep breath. “Do we all agree on the basics of this agreement?”
Cole looked at Nadia, who nodded, her mouth tight. She was pissed; he could see it in the small wrinkles around her mouth, in the glower of her eyes. He should have been happy about that, but he wasn’t. He was sick—over the day’s worth of arguments, over the reduction of their relationship to insignificant line items and who gets the fucking Picassos. Thank God for DeLuca, who’d been worth his weight in gold, and the mediator, a beady-eyed woman who was actually competent.
“Cole?” the mediator pushed. “Do you agree on the basics of this agreement?”
“Yes.” He kept his eyes on hers. If she backed out now, if she dragged this into court and further, he would let DeLuca off his leash to do everything the man had been fighting to do since he was hired.
“Nadia?”
The gap in between the question and her reply lasted years. Cole held his breath, his eyes on hers, the defiance in them ending in the moment that they fell to the table. “Yes,” she said in a wounded fashion, like she wasn’t walking out of there rich. At least she wasn’t getting The Fortune Bottle. At least he had one untainted thing in his life.
Summer came to mind and then left, a page pushed in front of him for his signature. “This is legally binding,” the mediator reminded them. “It will let the court know of your decision and will stand in place until your attorneys can draw up all of the corresponding paperwork.”
Cole scrawled his name and wondered how long it would take for the messy signature to show up online, the details of their separation spread open for anyone with an internet connection. Nadia understood, same as he did, the damage that this could do to their reputations – the hidden skeletons that mud slinging would bring out. It was why they had stayed relatively cordial during this process. It was also the only reason that they’d managed to reach an agreement during mediation, both of them opposed to court.
DeLuca waited until Nadia signed, her signature neat and perfect, then spoke, “We’ll be in touch with initial drafts of our agreements next week.”
“In a hurry, aren’t we?” Nadia spoke from her seat at the table, her eyes on Cole. Interesting words from a woman who served him divorce papers so quickly. He didn’t respond, just stood, grabbing his sunglasses off the table and putting them on.
“Nadia?” He smiled when she turned, her hand tugging on the handle of her Hermes. “It’s been an absolute pleasure.”
She smiled brightly, and the sum of their entire relationship could be condensed into that exchange: two actors playing their parts to perfection.
Sad that it took so long for him to finally see that.