“No one can stop this now?” I didn’t mean it as a question.
“Mrs. Sherman,” the judge said, “I’m afraid you can’t change your mind without legal action.”
Van’s arm came around my waist as I turned to him. “I’m not changing my mind.”
“I believe Mrs. Mayhand has a meal planned,” Van said to everyone.
As the others left his office, I reached for Van’s left hand. I spun the platinum band on his fourth finger. “I’m glad you wanted a ring too.”
“Oh, beautiful, I want the whole world to know that I found the love of my life.”
“Finders keepers,” I said, repeating something he’d said more than once.
My heart was full as we walked toward the sounds of happy guests and the rich aroma of delicious food.
Van
Pulling out one of the heavy ornate chairs surrounding the formal dining table, I took the seat beside Julia. As guests talked with one another and enjoyed Mrs. Mayhand’s meal, I whispered to my bride. “Do you know that this is a first for me?”
Her smile brightened my world. “Getting married?”
“Yes, but I was thinking specifically about sitting in this dining room for a meal.”
“In all the years you’ve lived here, you’ve never eaten in the dining room?”
I leaned closer, my whisper going an octave lower as I purposely sent warm breath to her slender neck. “I’ve eaten, but my meal wasn’t food, and I wasn’t sitting in a chair.”
Pink filled Julia’s cheeks in the sexiest of ways.
“I do recall.”
“Good, or I may need to remind you.”
The blush on her cheeks morphed from pink to apple red as she tipped her forehead to my shoulder. When she looked up, her blue orbs glowed. “You’re doing that thing with your voice.”
“What thing?”
Beneath the table her fingers splayed over my thigh as they moved higher.
Reaching for her hand, I brought her knuckles to my lips. “Careful.”
“I told you. I like fire.”
“When we’re alone, there will be a forest fire.”
Smiling, Julia turned to Vicki at her other side. Lena was to mine. Connie, Eric, and Judge Nichols sat across from us. Margaret, Jonathon, Bradley, and Mrs. Mayhand filled the other seats.
Although it did seem as though Margaret and her mother were up more than they were seated. Michael and Albert were also present, eating in the kitchen, despite Julia’s multiple invitations to join us at the table.
As I listened to everyone talk and watched them, I had a revelation.
Fuck the rest of the world.
A year or two earlier I’d come across a news piece about my rise to power. The asshole reporter never contacted me for my perspective—not that I would have given it. The article was a hatchet job from the first word to the last. I let that piece stew within me, the inaccuracies eating away at me, and coming to my consciousness when I’d least expect—waking at night or triggered by one word during a meeting. It was at that time when I decided to have my memoir written.
A memoir I could control.
Over the next year, I gathered information, both physical and digital. I compiled the pieces to what I believed could be a more accurate representation of my climb to wealth and power. I wanted the world to know that I would continue my pursuit of more, bigger, and better. That quest and that quest alone was why Donovan Sherman was a success. That drive grew within a young man and served as catalyst as he aged.