Too Late For Regret: The Unbothered Bride

"I see," Alex said into the hands-free mic. "Don't catch a cold in the New York snow, Basil."

She tapped the red icon, cutting the call before he could invent a second excuse.

At the intersection of Wilshire and Santa Monica, the traffic light flared red.

Alex pulled a gold tube of lipstick from her handbag and uncapped it in the mirror. When she pressed the red wax against her lower lip, the stick snapped at the base with a dull crunch.

She dropped the broken red wax into the center cupholder, capped the empty brass tube, and left it there without another look.

Instead of driving to Bel-Air, she took the westbound ramp toward downtown, parking under her firm's high-rise.

For seven hours, she sat under the fluorescent lights of her corner office, marking citations on an injunction until the clock shifted past eleven.

Only when the cleaning crew started their vacuums in the hallway did Alex pack her briefcase and drive up the canyon.

At midnight, she unlocked the front door of the Mcleod estate.

"Is that you?" Basil's voice cut through the dark foyer from the living room.

"It's me," Alex said.

The foyer was pitch black, his custom Italian loafers lay kicked aside by the console, and a hard-shell Rimowa suitcase sat at the foot of the stairs with its white Van Nuys private terminal tag still attached.

Alex walked past the luggage into the living room, where Basil sat on the leather sofa, roughly pulling down his navy silk tie.

"Why the hell are you so late?" Basil demanded.

"I was at the firm preparing tomorrow's federal filings," Alex said.

"I fly across the country through winter storms and the house is completely dark," he snapped, tossing his tie onto the glass table. "Not even a warm meal waiting on the counter."

Alex stood three paces away, letting the geography of his lie hang in the cold air.

Beneath his undone shirt collar, a smudged trace of pale pink blush sat against the seam, and three thin fingernail scratches marked the tanned skin below his collarbone.

She looked at the scratches for two seconds, then met his gaze.

"I was at the bridal salon," Alex said. "Finalizing the gown."

Basil's shoulders stiffened, his jaw tightening for a fraction of a second.

"The director spoke very highly of your generosity," Alex added.

"I pay for the best," Basil scoffed, standing up to tower over her with practiced arrogance. "I expect you to look the part. Without me, you wouldn't have access to those Parisian ateliers. Without me, you are nothing in this city."

"I'll keep that in mind for future retainers," Alex said.

"Make sure you do," Basil snapped. "I'm taking a shower."

He walked into the master suite, the heavy bathroom door clicking shut before the roar of water filled the pipes.

Alex walked upstairs into the walk-in closet, pulled a heavy black trash bag from under the vanity, and shook it open.

She opened the lower drawer where eight years of anniversary gifts lay in velvet slots.

Alex picked up the delicate silver Tiffany pendant from their second year—cold and tarnished at the edges.

"Eight years of garbage," Alex whispered to the empty closet.

Thud.

The silver hit the bottom of the plastic bag, followed by the diamond studs from year three, the Cartier sapphire brooch from year five, and the platinum bracelet from year seven.

She swept the framed photo of their graduation off the shelf, letting the glass shatter inside the plastic.

The rush of water stopped in the bathroom.

Basil stepped out into the closet with a white towel draped across his broad shoulders, steam rolling off his chest.

"Go down to my study and print the revised patent files," Basil ordered.

"Print them yourself," Alex said.

"Those files determine tomorrow's funding round," Basil barked.

"Then you should have reviewed them on your flight," Alex said.

"I was working," Basil snapped.

"Clearly your schedule was very demanding," Alex replied.

Alex tied the yellow drawstrings of the trash bag into a tight double knot.

"Review them yourself," Alex repeated. "I have a preliminary injunction hearing at eight tomorrow morning."

Basil froze, his hands stopping on the towel.

"What did you just say?" Basil took a heavy step forward, crowding her against the vanity island.

Alex met his glare without blinking.

"I said no," Alex said.

"Are you deaf?" Basil hissed. "I pay your firm's retainer."

"And I earn every cent of it," Alex replied.

Basil looked down at the bulging black plastic in her fist.

"What the hell is in that bag?" Basil demanded. "Did you take the Cartier?"

"I've been throwing away one piece every time you disappointed me," Alex said evenly. "I just got tired of the pace."

"You've lost your mind," Basil sneered, his chest heaving. "You think you can play games with me in my own house?"

"Excuse me, I need to sleep," Alex said.

She lifted the heavy bag and stepped around his shoulder, heading toward the hallway stairs.

"Alex! Stand right there when I'm speaking to you!" Basil shouted after her.

Inside his discarded jacket on the bench, his private phone rang with a loud, piercing chime.

Basil snatched the device from the inner pocket, glaring at Alex's back as she reached the landing.

"Watch this," Basil said through his teeth, pressing the green button and hitting the speaker icon to put her in her place.

"Basil, baby, are you home yet?" Hollie's voice echoed through the bedroom at full volume, breathless and giggling. "You left your Rolex on my nightstand in St. Barts, and my sheets still smell like you."