Chapter 11
Easton stared at his phone, the disconnect tone buzzing in his ear like an angry wasp. He looked at the screen as if it had just bitten him. She had hung up. She had actually, finally, hung up on him.
"Daddy!" Holt slammed his small fists onto the granite island. "Lasagna! Now!"
Easton felt a vein throb in his temple. He looked at Georgina. She was leaning against the counter, scrolling through her phone, looking impeccable in a cream-colored lounge set.
"Georgina," Easton said, his voice tight. "Can you... handle this?"
Georgina looked up, blinking slowly. "Me?"
"Yes, you. The boy is hungry. Althea isn't coming."
Georgina's smile faltered. She looked at the massive, professional-grade stove as if it were a spaceship control panel. "Well, I suppose I could try. How hard can it be? It's just pasta and cheese, right?"
Thirty minutes later, the kitchen was filled with gray smoke.
Easton coughed, waving a hand in front of his face. The smoke alarm was chirping rhythmically, a piercing sound that drilled into his skull.
Georgina pulled a glass dish out of the oven. She was wearing oven mitts that looked comically large on her slender hands. Her face was smudged with flour.
"Ta-da!" she announced, though her voice lacked conviction.
The thing in the dish was a blackened, bubbling brick. The noodles were hard and curled at the edges like dead worms. The cheese had burned into a dark, impenetrable crust.
Holt stared at it. He poked it with a fork. The fork didn't penetrate.
"It looks like dirt," Holt said, his face crumpling. "I'm not eating dirt!"
"It's rustic," Georgina said defensively, looking at Easton for support. "It's how they do it in Tuscany."
Holt took a bite. He chewed once, twice, and then spat it out onto the floor.
"Yuck!" he screamed. "It tastes like burning! I hate you!"
Georgina's face fell. Tears welled in her eyes—perfect, photogenic tears. She turned to Easton, her lower lip trembling. "I tried, Easton. He's just... he's so difficult. Althea spoiled him."
Easton looked at the mess. The flour on the floor. The burnt food. The crying child. The crying mistress.
He felt a sudden, sharp pang in his stomach. Not hunger. Something else. A memory of the kitchen smelling like basil and slow-cooked tomatoes. Of Althea humming as she stirred a pot, handing him a glass of wine when he walked in the door.
He shook his head, physically shaking the memory loose, replacing it with pure rage. She thought she could starve them out? She thought this chaos would make him beg? Never.
He stormed out of the kitchen, ignoring Georgina's call of his name.
"That's it," he said, walking into his study and slamming the door. "I tried to be nice. I tried to wait."
He pulled out his phone and dialed his lawyer.
"Start the proceedings," Easton barked into the receiver. "I want full custody. I want her stripped of visitation rights. I want to destroy her."
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