Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 98398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
“That sounds great,” Eddie said, lacing the fingers of her free hand with mine.
“That is amazing. I know the chef, and I am going to give him hell,” Sabrina said, rubbing her hands together like a scary little gremlin.
I really was going to have to watch my back around her, but she had spent the last four years watching my girl’s back, and for that, she was family.
I even had a proposal to fund her own restaurant if she was interested.
All of that would have to wait until after the honeymoon.
Dinner had been amazing, full of laughter and embarrassing stories. It was exactly what Eddie and I needed to celebrate the beginning of our new life together.
Once it was over, I was ready to take my bride home and make love to her until the flight preparation was completed for the jet we’d be using to take us to a tropical getaway for a full two weeks of blissful vacation.
Another first for me, but I was looking forward to it. This was why I couldn’t for the life of me understand why Eddie insisted we head back to the office, just the two of us, before going home.
“What is this all about?” I asked, sitting behind my desk.
She sat on my lap and opened my laptop. I kissed her shoulder and let my hands wander down her long legs while she typed away, and then I heard the printer warming up.
“You’ll see,” she said. “We have a little more work to do before we can leave for our trip.”
“We really don’t,” I said. “The O’Murphy clan has all been arrested. They are being charged with everything, and since they kidnapped my wife, I recused myself from the case.”
I kissed the back of her neck and moved my hands up her thighs. “The lawyer taking over is competent, and I gave him everything he needs. I hear most of them are trying for a plea deal. They will plead guilty and get a chance at parole in thirty years or so.”
“That isn’t what we need to take care of,” she said rudely, ignoring my wandering hands.
“Then what is it? Did you want to get half naked in my bathroom again for old times’ sake?” I teased.
She let out a sexy, throaty laugh and stood to grab the papers off the printer.
“Sign this,” she said, handing me the stack of papers.
I took the documents, and the second I saw the words “postnuptial agreement,” I threw them down on the desk.
“No. I told you it was my prenup or none.”
“This isn’t a prenup. It’s a postnup. I drew it up myself. Look it over. For me?” She batted her eyes at me.
“One of these days, that isn’t going to work,” I warned.
“As long as that day isn’t today, I can live with that. Now, can you live with this?”
I read over the agreement.
Not only was it well written, but it was fair.
Not solely to me or her, but to both parties, like a proper contract should be.
It stated that if the parties reached a point at which divorce was discussed, then the parties would attend counseling sessions for a time no shorter than six months. Both parties would see individual counselors at least once a week and couples counseling as often as required, no less than once a week.
If children were involved, counseling would include them as well as any recommended by the therapist. It went on to say that assets gained during the marriage were all community property. However, assets obtained prior to the marriage and things such as inheritance were not considered community property.
“What is this?” I asked.
“It’s what I believe is fair, and so you know that at no point did I consider marrying you for your money. You should know I drew this up yesterday, and I e-mailed it to your father to approve.”
“Did he approve?”
“Not exactly. He felt that it was a ridiculous contract that, while it should be signed and filed, we should forget was there because there is no end to this marriage.”
“He is a wise man,” I said as I signed the papers and moved them over for her to sign as well.
She signed with her new name, “Mrs. Edwina Astrid.”
“Now that that is settled, there is just one more thing.”
“What’s that, wife?”
“I think this time you should be the one half naked in your bathroom.”
EPILOGUE
CHARLOTTE
After setting my cello case to the side of the study door, I smoothed my hair and took a deep breath before entering.
My father was at his desk, as usual.
No matter how far back I thought, I didn’t have a single childhood memory that didn’t involve my father hunched over his desk working.
I remembered mistaking him for the mean man, Scrooge, from A Christmas Carol when I was eight. In my defense, there were numerous parallels. Take away the hooked nose, gray hair, and English accent but leave the mean-spirited greed and complete disregard for humanity and you’d have a carbon copy of Lucian Manwarring, Sr.