“Fine, forget the media. This kind of situation is utterly unprecedented. What if the situation were reversed? What if, I don’t know, the attorney general arguing against you was married to Matthew Smith? You don’t think you’d be outraged at that?”

  “Matthew Smith would never marry a woman with that much authority.”

  Victoria rolled her eyes. “Genevieve, come on.”

  “Fine, yes, I’d raise hell about it.” Genevieve threw up her hands.

  “So let’s not put that shadow over this case. Let’s not give idiots any reason to doubt the outcome. Call it integrity, call it me being a closet case, call it overcautiousness. Call it whatever you want. If you argue, I’m stepping down.”

  Genevieve’s eyes narrowed, and a staring contest ensued. Genevieve lost and mumbled, “I need another drink,” before stalking back to the kitchen.

  This time, Victoria left her alone. She’d said what she needed to. Genevieve could decide how the case proceeded—she could give her that, since it might be the last decision Genevieve would make on the case.

  Genevieve returned and sat on the couch as far away from Victoria as possible. She stared into her glass.

  “Crystal and I grew up together. Sleepovers at her house. Climbing trees together. Soccer practice. When we were sophomores, we both had crushes on the prom queen. When we were juniors, I had…problems with a teacher. He was a woman-hating asshole, and for some reason I was the one he went after. Gave me Fs on all my history papers for no reason. Mocked me mercilessly in front of the other students. It got so bad I was crying in the bathroom before class every day. Crystal stood up to him. Called him out whenever he was cruel to me in class and wrote it all down. Got the school board involved. She taught me how to stand up for myself and how important it is to stand up for other people.”

  Finally, she turned bruised eyes to Victoria. “I can’t believe you’re putting me in this position.”

  “Look, I want you to know that I don’t—”

  “Just stop. I will step down, because I do think the case needs your vote and needs your…integrity behind the scenes, as the other justices figure out what decision to sign on to.”

  Victoria dared to scoot closer to her. “I’m sorry that our jobs…our relationship… I’m sorry about this professional conflict. I’m sorry that you won’t be able to argue a case that you’ve put so much work into. That involves your friends.”

  “Yeah. Well.” She drained her third scotch of the evening. “I’m flying Crystal and Heather out here as soon as possible. I need to explain in person why I won’t be arguing their case and help them decide who will. They’ll stay at my townhouse. With me.”

  The implication was clear: Genevieve wouldn’t be staying with Victoria.

  “Of course.” Despite her best efforts, she knew her voice sounded flat. “Would you like some privacy to call them and make arrangements?”

  “Yeah, I would.”

  Victoria stood and started to head upstairs.

  “Don’t bother. That’s not the kind of privacy I need right now.”

  When Genevieve headed toward the front hall closet for her coat, Victoria felt as though she had been slapped. Risking an actual slap, she walked to the front door and stood in front of it. “You’re not driving right now. You’re drunk and angry.”

  “Well, you live in the middle of nowhere, so I certainly can’t walk or take a train.”

  It felt like an old-fashioned standoff, only she surmised they would look pretty ridiculous to an outsider, Victoria in a skirt suit and bare feet with her hands on her hips and Genevieve clutching her coat in one hand and her keys in the other, squeezing so hard her fingers were white.

  “Please. Just stay tonight. You can sleep wherever you want. I’ll go upstairs and close the door.”

  She held out her hand, and defeated, Genevieve dropped her keys into it before snatching up her cell phone from the coffee table and storming back into the kitchen. She seemed to have forgotten the coat in her other hand and, the belt of the trench dragged on the floor.

  Obviously it would be a mistake to suggest that drunk and pissed might not be the best state in which to call her friends-slash-clients, but that didn’t mean Victoria didn’t seriously consider it.

  When she heard the unmistakable clink of the scotch bottle against Genevieve’s tumbler, Victoria plodded upstairs, turning off lights as she made her way to the bedroom.

  Unsure whether she’d have company, she climbed into her side of the bed and stared at the empty other half.

  Chapter 9

  When she awoke at 9:00 a.m., Genevieve’s head felt like a freight train had run through it, and Tori’s side of the bed was cold. Still a bit groggy, she wandered downstairs and spied a note on the table. Ran to the store. Back by 9:30.

  Swallowing her pride last night had been difficult. Whether Tori had actually been asleep when Genevieve finally eased into the bed was anyone’s guess, but it was probably for the best that she hadn’t tried to find out, since she had been in no state for a repeat performance of that evening’s sparring. She had watched the minutes tick by until somewhere around 3:00 a.m., when she finally fell asleep.

  How was it possible that the things that attracted her to Victoria in the first place were the same things driving her nuts now? It was endlessly sexy to her the way Victoria was impeccably dressed for any occasion. She had been so drawn to the immaculate, if perhaps a bit remote, decor of her house and her unparalleled work ethic. But seriously, who puts on makeup to go to the farmers’ market? Far be it for Genevieve to complain about the delicious home-cooked food she was now privy to, but a greasy pizza delivered right to their door never killed anyone. And Genevieve wasn’t an excessive TV watcher, but she did enjoy watching some Shondaland shows or, really, anything that wasn’t Meet the Press.

  Although she was getting better at remembering to hang up her coat, rather than just dumping it on the back of the couch, for the life of her, she couldn’t ever seem to load the dishwasher correctly. Never mind that there really wasn’t such a thing.

  It was the first Saturday in, well, she couldn’t remember how long, when she wouldn’t be going into the office.

  And, hell, if Tori kept taking cases away from her, maybe she’d never have to go into the office on a Saturday again. Maybe she could retire.

  Grateful for thirty minutes to actually be herself, she swapped devices in the docking station and cued up an old Garbage album. She knew she should get dressed before Victoria returned, most likely wearing pressed slacks and a blazer. But dammit, it was Saturday morning, and yoga pants were so comfortable.

  She was scrolling through her tablet, reading the news on Tori’s couch, when vibrations from the floor indicated the garage door was opening. She thought briefly about hopping in the shower, which might at least seem mildly productive to her hyperefficient girlfriend and would also give them an excuse not to talk right away. Instead, she turned off the music, steeled herself, and headed into the kitchen to help unload the groceries.

  She wondered, not for the first time, how different, how much better, this dynamic would be if they spent more of their time in her townhouse than in Tori’s place.

  “Did you get bananas?” Genevieve unpacked the first of six matching cloth bags lining the countertop.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t. Were they on the list?”

  “Let’s say that they’re permanently on the list.”

  “I’ll get some next time.” Tori hesitated, then kissed her cheek as she made a trip from the kitchen island to the fridge, hands filled with produce.

  “I was thinking. What if we went out tonight for dinner?”

  Tori visibly stiffened, but when she stood up and turned to face Genevieve, her eyes were impassive. “I just returned from a rather impressive shopping trip, as you can see. I picked up all the ingredients to make a stir fry.”

  Genevieve willed herself not to feel guilty asking for what she wanted. Because she certainly hadn’t asked for Tori to go to the store and get dinner ingredients, and she had just given up a hugely important case because her girlfriend wasn’t going to. So, for better or worse, Genevieve felt she was owed something right now.

  “Tori. I’d like to go out to dinner tonight. Together.”

  Something she thought might be panic flitted across Tori’s features, but she smiled serenely. “Of course. Make us a reservation wherever you’d like to go.”

  She turned back to the refrigerator, and just like that, there it was again: Tori’s unfailing politeness was the perfect combination of overwhelmingly sexy and irritating, all at once. Well, Genevieve had gotten something she wanted; she should feel a sense of victory, or at least validation.

  Yet the air between them felt too thin, like she had summited some great peak only to discover the view was obscured by fog. Tori was still messing around in the fridge, and Genevieve honestly didn’t know if it was an OCD thing or simply a handy way to avoid eye contact, because after knowing her for over twenty years, she still didn’t really know Victoria Willoughby.

  “I’m going to take a shower,” she said. If her voice sounded hollower than she’d intended, it was because she couldn’t help feeling she was retreating.

  Through the whirr of the shower water, Genevieve could hear Tori messing around in the bedroom. Making the bed, most likely. Genevieve considered that she should have done it while Tori was at the grocery store; making the bed was one of the few chores she did regularly and without complaint. So it stood to reason that being annoyed at Tori for doing it was completely irrational.

  Everything about their relationship right now felt irrational to her.

  Chapter 10

  Victoria was not overly fond of sushi, but given how tenuous their hold was on any kind of civility right now, she just smiled and nodded when Genevieve informed her that they were headed to a fancy place called The Dragon and Eel.

  Genevieve also left no room for debate about who was driving, and Victoria took her place in the passenger seat of Genevieve’s BMW. The restaurant was downtown, and when they got close, Victoria pointed out a parking garage; but Genevieve shook her head and insisted on weaving up and down nearby streets until she found an open spot. Victoria folded her hands in her lap and didn’t say anything.

  Clearly, despite the mostly civil conversation they’d had this morning, Genevieve was not done with her anger from last night.

  The Dragon and Eel had a distinctly yuppie vibe, with brightly colored paintings of fish on the walls and a large community table in the middle of the room. The clientele was younger than the two of them, although Genevieve blended well in her jeans and boots. Par for the course, really—Genevieve looked good in any environment. Maybe Victoria’s pencil skirt and blazer weren’t the best choice. Too late now—they were led to a small, two-person table on the side of the room, and Victoria took solace in the fact that it was unlikely that anyone in the restaurant would recognize them.

  They ordered rolls and sake, and when the waiter left with their menus, there was nothing between them to hide behind. Victoria fidgeted with her napkin and wondered if it was her responsibility to break the ice. Genevieve probably thought so, considering she felt like the wronged party here. But really, anyone in their right mind would look at their situation and say that the obvious choice would be for Victoria to stay on the bench for the same-sex parentage case and for Genevieve to step away. Maybe she could ask something benign about Genevieve’s trip to Michigan.

  “Look, I get it. I do,” Genevieve said, continuing a conversation they hadn’t ever really started. “I understand your point that we have a conflict of interest. But that doesn’t mean I’m happy about how this whole thing is working out.”

  “I don’t expect you would be. I’m sure I’d be pissed too. Genevieve, I want you to know that I didn’t do this to you. I didn’t vote to hear the case this fall, and I would never intentionally take a case away from you or in any other way sabotage your career.”

  Victoria wanted desperately to take her hand, and if they had been at home, she probably would have. But there were too many people around, and besides, Genevieve didn’t seem particularly receptive to physical affection at the moment.

  “Rationally understanding that this isn’t your fault doesn’t make it any easier. I still have to sit this one out, and you get a front row seat to a fight that should have been mine.”

  She sighed. “What can I do to make it up to you?” Maybe if she could convey how much she wanted Genevieve to be happy, how she cared as much about Genevieve’s career as her own, this tension between them would dissipate. Because if she had to be awfully, pathetically alone for another night when they were in the same bed, she would probably cry. Which wasn’t something she did very often.

  But her offer only seemed to make Genevieve angrier. “That’s not how this works, and you know it, Victoria.”

  This situation was more serious than she’d realized. Obviously, Genevieve was annoyed when she’d asked to go home after Alistair’s. And she was clearly pissed last night when she stormed around Victoria’s house getting drunk. But perhaps Victoria had underestimated the extent to which Genevieve was unhappy with their relationship.

  She swallowed hard.

  “Your career will always be more important than mine.” The quiet resignation in Genevieve’s voice felt worse than her anger the night before.

  “I don’t want that to be the case,” Victoria said. “And actually, there are ways that you can look at this and see that your career trumps mine. You get publicity and recognition—more people know your name and face than know mine.”

  “I seriously doubt that. And besides, media fanfare hardly compares to having your name in history books.”

  “Are we really doing this?” Victoria’s shoulders slumped a little. “You never wanted to be a justice, Genevieve. Please don’t punish me now for achieving my dream.”

  “Your dream always seems to come at my expense,” Genevieve said, making no attempt to mask the bitterness in her voice.

  The comment hit Victoria right in the gut, and she took a few deep breaths, trying to decide how to proceed. “Genevieve, there needs to be a statute of limitations on what happened with us in law school. If you can’t forgive me for leaving you back then, I’m not sure we have much of a future here.”

  Genevieve put a piece of sushi in her mouth and turned green, either because of too much wasabi or the frank way in which she had just questioned their future. But really, if Genevieve was going to dance around their problems like a monkey, well, screw that. Victoria had no patience for passive-aggressiveness. Let Genevieve hear out loud what she was clearly thinking about and dissect the feelings those words inspired.

  The server arrived to ask if they needed anything, saving them from rehashing old grievances like a child picking at a scab. They ate their rolls in silence, and just when Genevieve seemed about to say something, a man and a woman holding hands approached their table.

  “Hey, you’re Justice Victoria Willoughby, right?” the woman asked.

  The man slipped behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. Victoria resisted making a face; it was one of her least favorite postures for straight couples. Men who did that always looked simultaneously possessive and parental.

  This guy was wearing a tweed jacket with elbow patches that screamed “professor” in the most tired way possible. Victoria glanced down at his shoes—yep, loafers with no socks. Ridiculous. He was older—much older—than his date, who was probably twenty, very sexy, and painfully idealistic. His student, perhaps? Gross.

  “I just wanted to say that I think you’re really cool,” the woman said. “I’m thinking of going to law school after I graduate Georgetown.”

  The mask Victoria wore when talking to strangers slid on, and Genevieve inexplicably glared at her. “Good for you. Law school is challenging but very rewarding. And there are a lot of career options that a law degree would open for you,” Victoria said, repeating phrases she’d used a thousand times.

  Genevieve drained her sake and eyed the door to the bathrooms. Victoria kicked her in the shin, hoping to dissuade Genevieve from abandoning her with two interlopers.

  After a pronounced eye roll, Genevieve refilled her sake glass and was about to drink when the couple turned their attention to her.

  “And you’re Genevieve Fornier, right?” the man said.

  Genevieve nodded, her eyes narrowed. Despite her vast experience with interviews and glad-handing, she showed no interest in being civil to these strangers.

  “I’ve been following this gay adoption case of yours—my cousin and his partner live in Louisiana, and they’ve always wanted kids.” He glanced between Victoria and Genevieve, his hands still gripping his date’s shoulders. “Does this mean that you can’t argue the case anymore?” he asked Genevieve.

  Victoria blinked at him. Was he for real? She was tempted to ask him how he’d like it if she and Genevieve had moseyed over to his table and asked him if dating his student meant that he couldn’t teach anymore.

  “Quite the quandary,” he continued, unfazed. “It’s really fascinating, your relationship.” He glanced at Victoria. “I teach an upper division course on law and the media at Georgetown. I was thinking of ending the semester by talking about you two.”

  Victoria might have had a flawless poker face, but she couldn’t maintain it in that moment. She glanced at Genevieve and saw pure fire in her eyes. The storm brewing behind them actually scared her. Damn these two for interfering. She shifted in her seat so that her knee rested against Genevieve’s, which seemed to calm her slightly.

  Genevieve took a deep breath and turned a completely fake smile to their unwanted visitors. “Good luck with that. Let us know how it goes. Now, if you don’t mind, we were just about to eat. I hope you two enjoy your date.” She turned and, in a voice she usually reserved for television interviews, said pleasantly, “You have to try some of my dragon rolls, Tori—they’re amazing.”