‘But we’re not going to be married in the UK.’
‘We’re not?’ I grab my wine and take a sip or six.
‘We have to go to New York because a prenup in the UK isn’t worth the paper it’s written on. We’ll go to the courthouse.’
‘Okay, so I’ll need to have a look at my diary.’
‘I’m going tomorrow, and you’ll come with me.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Don’t fight me on this. It’s hardly like you’re run off your feet with things to do.’
‘Hey, you’re the one with the easy job,’ I protest immediately. Well, he was the one who said he gets paid for what he knows, not what he does. Well, that’s not the case for me. I get paid for none of that stuff!
‘Your business is a hair’s breadth from going under, so the quicker we marry, the quicker you’ll have the money to fix things.’
‘I still have shit to do!’
‘And don’t swear. It’s beneath you.’
‘Ohhhh.’ The noise is a hundred syllables long. ‘Do you think this is the nineteen fifties? That you get some dominion over me?’
‘I’m well aware of the year. I’m also aware that you are the junior partner in this venture. So yes, to a certain extent, you are mine to direct.’
‘It’s not too late for me to change my mind.’
‘True,’ he agrees. ‘But you’re not an idiot. And if you think you were busy before, well, you weren’t. You’ll need to recognise that for the next six months your time isn’t as important as mine. Sacrifices will have to be made.’
‘I’m not all about that wholesacrifice lifedeal.’ My answer is delivered on an unpleasant chuckle, but it’s true. ‘I don’t kill spiders, and I’m a strict vegetarian,’ I add with a good measure of teenage style provocation as I stretch my legs out under the coffee table, Beckett’s eyes following the motion out of the corner of his eye.
‘Tomorrow, you’ll come to New York with me, then be back on Friday when we’ll spread the good tidings to all concerned.’
Nope. ‘Will you tell your family?’
‘My parents are dead, and I’m an only child. The remaining members of my family aren’t a part of my life. What about you? Will you tell your grandmother?’
‘God, no, she’s ninety-two. I don’t want to kill her.’
‘Good. Less complications.’
‘Although,’ I add as a thought occurs to me, ‘she’ll be flying to the UK at the end of the summer.’ This is her annual pilgrimage, and every summer, she says she won’t be around to make the trip the following year. This has been going on so long, I think my family has stopped listening to her. ‘No,’ I decide, ‘I won’t tell her.’ She’ll want to meet him, and then she’ll want to know why I married a man I can’t stand.
‘I suppose now is as good a time as any to go through the contract.’
‘Didn’t we just do that?’
‘That was the prenuptial agreement; what you’ll take from the marriage once it’s dissolved.’
‘And what I won’t.’
‘Exactly. The contract is a little more complex than that. As I’ve said, you should seek legal counsel,’ he says, passing over a single sheet of paper.
‘What’s this?’ I look but don’t touch.
‘A non-disclosure agreement. I’m presuming you haven’t spoken with anyone about what we discussed.’
‘Like I’d tell anyone about this shit.’ Beckett’s brows pinch. ‘Look, I swear on occasion, so get used to it. And no, I haven’t told anyone because I don’t want anyone to know.’ I snatch the paper from between his fingertips and the pen he holds out next before scribbling my signature on the applicable line.
