INCONVENIENTLY WED!

‘Now that we’re all here,’ the judge said by way of segue from one opinionated rant to another, ‘I am ready to hear your application for divorce.’

        ‘As both parties are in agreement—’ Antonio's lawyer began, before the judge cut him off.

        ‘Are they?’ the judge asked Simon. ‘Are you?’ he demanded, looking between Antonio and Ivy.

        Antonio nodded once, firm and decisive.

        Several little bobs of Ivy’s head confirmed her agreement.

        ‘Really?’ the judge demanded of her again.

        All eyes turned to Ivy.

        ‘Yes?’ she answered hesitantly.

        ‘That sounds more like a question than a statement, Mrs Gallo.’

        Ivy blinked, as if surprised to hear herself addressed as such. She opened her mouth to speak but, once again, the judge cut in.

        ‘Do you know what?’ the judge asked them, apparently without requiring a response. ‘I believe in marriage. I believe in the sanctityof it. I believe that once you make that binding declaration, your lives are entwined for ever,’ he said, his finger striking his desk with each sentence. ‘I’m not religious, and I’m not a legal zealot. But I believe in the importance and inviolability of giving your word to something.

        ‘So, Antonio Gallo, are you a man whose word is not of value?’ the judge demanded, much to the horror of his lawyer.

        ‘Absolutely not,’ Antonio replied indignantly.

        ‘Yet you promised to love, protect and honour this woman,’ the judge accused, pointing at Ivy. ‘And nothing about your marriage, your time together or your prenup implies the slightest hint of that.’

        Antonio frowned.

        ‘A prenup which gives Mrs Gallo nothing, is that correct?’

        ‘Yes.’

        That had been their agreement. He had paid Ivy two hundred and fifty thousand pounds to marry him. She had agreed that she had no right to anything beyond that, and as such the divorce was supposed to have been easy. His lawyers had assured him of such a thing.

        Clearly no one had expected Carmondy.

        ‘You signed this willingly?’ the judge asked, waving a piece of paper at Ivy.

        She nodded.

        ‘Did you have a lawyer present?’

        She bit her lip before swallowing. ‘I didn’t need one, Your Honour. I knew what I was signing.’

        The judge’s gaze turned on Antonio accusatorily. ‘When you married her, she became your family. She became yours, not to own, but to protect, to care for. It is a responsibility you have deeply neglected,’ the judge stated.

        ‘Hold on a minute—’ Antonio said, nearly rising to his feet. He was enduring this entire farce precisely because he was trying to protect his family.

         ‘Don’t interrupt me,’ the judge warned.

         Antonio ground his teeth together so hard he’d need to see a dentist when he got back to Italy.

        ‘I am sick to the back teeth of people marrying and divorcing willy nilly.’

        Was the man having a stroke? Why was he talking about teeth? What on earth was a nilly? And what did it have to do with male anatomy?

        ‘Are you okay?’ Antonio asked.

        The judge stared back at him. ‘No! I am not. I am fed up with rich people who treat marriage like a tax haven, and the British Courts like a toll booth.’

        ‘Well, that isn’t prejudiced at all,’ Antonio said sarcastically.

         The judge opened and closed his mouth. But really, Antonio was only speaking the truth.

        ‘Okay,’ the judge said, finally finding his voice. ‘I am refusing to grant this divorce, until it can be proved that you have both worked as hard as possible to rectify your differences.’

        Antonio sat back in his chair in shock. He’d never heard of anything like it. Neither had his lawyer, as evidenced by the way Simon’s mouth hung open.

        ‘Your Honour, this is highly irregular,’ Simon said when he finally found his voice.

        ‘That it may be, but this is my decision. You will have three assessments with a court-appointed mediator in order to determine that you have genuinely given everything you can to make this marriage work, and yet still have irreconcilable differences.’

        ‘Assessments?’ Simon asked in confusion.

        ‘Yes, assessments. Interview-based assessments. Three of them,’ the judge demanded hotly.

        ‘Where? In England? I can’t stay here,’ Antonio bit out at the ludicrous suggestion. ‘I have business in Italy.’

        ‘And your wife, Mr Gallo?’ the judge demanded.

        Antonio drew a blank.

        The judge looked at Ivy, who winced. ‘I have work too. Here,’ she said, sealing his fate with yet another black mark against his name, apparently.

        ‘The assessments can happen in Italy if you want to pay for the travel and accommodation of the mediator, and can negotiate that with Mrs Gallo, or you can stay in England. Make a decision, Mr Gallo. I have already made mine. Dismissed.’