Confessions of a City Girl: Books 1-3 (Autographed Paperback)

Prologue

“Mrs. Bell, are you absolutely sure there are no further steps you and Mr. Bell can take to reconcile this marriage?”

In my thirty-two years on this earth, I’ve never been caught speechless. I was born a New Yorker; as such, from the moment I took my first breath, I’ve had an opinion to share. 

A loud one.

Which is why I became a novelist. I simply had so much to say that I had to begin writing it all down, otherwise my vocal chords may have snapped in half.

But today, as Judge Bailey’s million-dollar question echoes through the courtroom, all I can do is stare blankly at his silver hair, at the tired lines around his eyes, and pretend he is talking to someone else.

“Mrs. Bell?” The judge’s stern voice rattles my insides. I feel like I might be sick.

How am I supposed to answer this question? With the truth? That yes, of course Mr. Bell and I could have done more to save our dying marriage! Should I swing from the rafters, yelling and crying about how much I still love my husband with every ounce of my being, but that despite all of our futile efforts to stop the bleeding, here we are. 

In divorce court. 

Violet and Josh. 

Josh and Violet.

A pair of artists who used to go together like chocolate and strawberries, Paris and romance, satin sheets and steamy sex.

But today, as we sit alone at our separate tables, dismantling the life we’ve built together, the only thing we have in common is the shattering of our exhausted hearts on this dirty courtroom floor.

“Mrs. Bell, please answer the question.”

Now I am flat-out ignoring the old bastard, my eyes darting anywhere but into that truth-seeking gaze of his. 

In my avoidance, by accident, I catch a glimpse of Josh. 

As an actor, Josh could always laugh or cry harder than anyone I knew. He delivers emotion with so much punch that it is nearly impossible not to join him in his elation or collapse with him in his misery.

But today, slumped in his chair, the man I’ve loved for more than a decade is a ghostly, ragged shell of the vibrant person he used to be. He doesn’t move or make a sound as a steady stream of tears rolls down his cheeks.   

Just when I have the urge to flail my broken-hearted body across this courtroom, wrap my arms around my husband, and call the whole damn thing off, Josh turns his tear-stained face to me.

He is defeated. Worn down. Finished.

He doesn’t speak, but I can hear him all the same.

Go ahead, Violet. This is what you wanted, isn’t it?

I nod, ever so slightly. 

Because somewhere, deep inside of me, I still feel the remnants of the confident, independent, sassy girl I used to be. And that girl is clawing, scratching, screaming to get the hell out of this dead marriage.

As much as this decision is tearing apart my insides, the pages in our romance novel have burned, and all that is left are ashes of a relationship I once thought—we once thought—would last forever.

No, Josh, the death of our love story is not what I wanted. 

But despite the very real tears he is shedding, my husband has already moved on. From our love, from our bed, from the life we built. 

So, what other choice do I have?

The judge clears his throat. “Mrs. Bell. We don’t have all day.”

I turn my face away from Josh. From his tears. From our life together.

And with one breath of stale courtroom air, I finally find the strength to speak.

“Yes, Your Honor. I’m sure.”