The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 296

Gemma’s POV

Watching Zina gorgeous the culinary exhibition is a study in the power of determination and effort.

I’ve known her almost my entire life, and the closest she’s ever gotten to cooking is using the microwave to reheat take–out.

Yet here she is, hanging on William’s every word as he explains the nuances of different sea salts and the precise temperature for sous–vide cooking.

She’s putting on a masterclass. She nods in all the right places, “Chef Clark, how does it feel to be so skilled…? The woman in your life must be extremely lucky.”

She gushes, and William offers a modest, closed–lipped smile. “That’s kind of you to say. Though, there isn’t currently a woman in that position.”

I can practically feel the celebratory vibes coming off of Zina.

“Really? But how is that possible? A man of your talents… I’d imagine you have to fight them off.”

He gives a self–deprecating shrug. “My work consumes most of my time. It doesn’t leave much room for a social life.”

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“Oh, I understand completely! It’s the same for me, actually. It’s been ages since I’ve been in anything serious. My last real relationship was back in my university days.”

She delivers the line with a wistful sigh that is so convincing I almost believe her myself.

“Is that so, Ms. Patel?” William asks, genuine curiosity in his eyes. “You’ve had very little experience with relationships?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Zina affirms, her head bobbing. She then throws me directly under the bus. “Isn’t that right, Gemma? You can vouch for me.”

All eyes shift to me, and I feel a hot flush creep up my neck.

I force a tight, awkward smile. “Zina has… very high standards,” I manage, choosing my words with the care of a bomb disposal expert. “She’s always believed relationships should lead

to marriage. Naturally, she has never been one for casual entanglements.”

Zina titters, “I suppose I’m just old–fashioned or maybe just naive. I always get my heart broken because I trust too easily.”

Her audacity is breathtaking!

“Gemma saw how devastated I was after my last breakup,” Zina weaves her web of fiction. “I was wreck for weeks. He was just playing a game, but I thought it was real.”

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She lets out a little sigh, and William’s expression melts.

&

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“That’s truly unfortunate. It’s rare to find someone who approaches love with such sincerity. I don’t think you’re naive, Miss Patel.”

That’s my cue to exit! My conscience can’t take any more of this.

If I stand here for another second, I’m liable to blurt out the truth about Zina’s whirlwind romance from last month that ended because the guy didn’t like her favorite reality TV show.

“If you’ll both excuse me, I just need to find the ladies‘ room.”

I don’t wait for a response, fleeing the scene of the crime. I have only walked a short way when a familiar drawl stops me.

“Fancy meeting you here, Mrs. Blackwell. Developing a sudden passion for gastronomy?”

I turn to find Mikhail leaning against a pillar, looking utterly out of place.

“Mr. Voloshin. I could ask you the same question, I didn’t take you for a man who enjoyed watching people work with whisks.”

He gives a dismissive shrug. “I’m just here as a chaperone for a friend.”

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He nods his head slightly, and I follow his gaze to where Jeremy Hartley is standing a few yards away, engaged in a conversation with an event organizer.

“You and Jeremy seem… close,” I observe, remembering their easy camaraderie at the Opal Group event.

“We move in similar circles. It’s a small world at the top.”

It’s a classic Mikhail answer, revealing nothing. “Well, enjoy the whisks.”

“Did you come with Cassian?”

He suddenly asks, his eyes scanning the crowd behind me. I shake my head.

“I’m here with a friend.”

At that moment, Jeremy concludes his conversation and walks over, a polite smile gracing his features. “Miss. Marino! This is a pleasant surprise.”

“Mr. Hartley.”

Mikhail pushes off the pillar. “We’re heading up to the private demonstrations on the second floor,” he informs me. But before he follows Jeremy, he pauses, “Oh, and your dear Mr. Smith mentioned he needs to discuss something with you. Make sure you’re at Dream International on time Monday morning.”

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The statement is so abrupt it takes me a second to process. Before I can form a question, Mikhail is already turning away, following Jeremy up the sweeping staircase.

I’m left standing there, puzzled, when Zina teleports at my side, her face a mask of exasperation. “There you are! I thought you fell in. What took so…” Her sentence trails off as she follows my gaze to the staircase.

Her eyes widen, and in a flash, she grabs my arm and yanks me behind a large structural pillar.

“Zina, what are you doing?” I hiss, stumbling after her.

“Shhh!” she whispers, peeking around the pillar. “Just… stay out of sight.”

I pull my arm from her grip. “I’m done, I can’t do this anymore. My conscience has a limit, and you reached it about three lies ago.”

She finally turns back to me, the panic fading from her eyes.

“Okay, okay, he’s gone. You’re off the hook! No more testimony, I promise.”

But as she says it, a genuine flicker of disappointment crosses her face. She glances back toward the main hall. “I wonder where William went. He couldn’t have left already.”

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“He’s a busy man, Zina. He runs a whole restaurant. Emergencies happen.”

“I know.”

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I study her face, the sudden shift from calculated flirtation to quiet letdown. “Zina, I need a straight answer, okay? Be honest, is this just another game for you, or are you actually serious about William?”

“I’m serious, Gem. My father… he’s been pressuring me to settle down for months. He told me point–blank that if I don’t find someone suitable on my own, he’ll arrange a marriage for me.”

The words come out in a frustrated rush. “So, yes, you could say I’m motivated to be serious.”

The admission shocks me. So her sudden drive for a husband is because her family is forcing her hand? “An arranged marriage? Who on earth does your father have in mind?”

The question seems to open a floodgate of annoyance. She grabs my hand and pulls me away from the bustling crowd, out through a set of glass doors onto a quiet, empty balcony overlooking the city. We sink into a pair of plush lounge chairs.

“You are not going to believe this!“‘

She says, lowering her voice, even though we’re completely

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alone. “My dad has completely lost his mind. He’s trying to marry me into the Hartley family.”

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The name hits me like a physical jolt. The Hartley family? As in Peter and Jeremy Hartley?

My mind reels. “Wait… are you saying he wants you to marry Jeremy?”

The idea is staggering, but not entirely implausible given their respective statuses.

Zina lets out a short, bitter laugh. “I wish it were Jeremy. That would almost be acceptable, but no.”

She takes a deep breath, “My father, in his infinite wisdom, has proposed that I marry Peter Hartley. As his second wife.”

“What?!”

Peter Hartley, a man older than her father, a man with a history as long and complicated as the city itself. “Zina… you can’t be serious.”

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