Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
But really, my wedding day was like this:
Meet brother on steps of courthouse.
Have him reintroduce me to Colin because I’d met my groom only twice before then, and I didn’t recognize him. (Guess I’ve come full circle on that, huh?)
Sign a prenup.
Repeat a bunch of mumbo jumbo in front of a judge, all while sweating profusely and trying to remember if I put on deodorant that morning.
Sign marriage certificate.
Shake hands with my husband, muttering something lame like, “Good times.”
The next morning I’d been on a flight to San Francisco. Colin had stayed in New York.
I know. It’s practically a Disney movie.
Now, okay, you’re wondering why, after getting my hands on the money, I didn’t get a divorce ASAP.
Simple. Grandma Geraldine—God rest her soul—was a wise old tramp. I had to stay married for five years, and I’d barely listened to my brother when he explained, but since green cards had stipulations too, the arrangement was just fine with Colin.
And then, five years came and went, and I was busy building my social media company, and then after that, I stayed married because … well, to be honest, it was easy to stay married. I mean, I didn’t live like a nun. Colin and I got that figured out via a couple of awkward emails very early on that we’d both live our lives however we wanted … discreetly.
And separately.
I’ve had a few casual relationships in California, and they’ve all been aware of my tricky situation. Which leads me to the upside …
If any of those relationships got too intense, and it happened, a handful of times, there’s nothing like a husband-of-convenience to gently let a guy you’re seeing know it’s just not meant to be.
It’s not that I was callous—I let these men know the score upfront: that I was committed to building my company and not looking for anything serious on the relationship front.
It’s been a good situation, honestly. For me, and I thought for Colin.
Until now, apparently.
I smile and refocus my attention to the present, and my husband’s unsmiling face. Damn, he’s gorgeous. “A divorce?”
I just want to make sure I’ve heard him correctly. He doesn’t seem like the type to joke, but …
“Yes. A divorce, Charlotte.”
Hmm. Okay then. The clipped use of my first name definitely lets me know he means business. Ah, well. I suppose I knew it was coming someday. All good things, and whatnot.
I smile to let him know there are no hard feelings. “I get it. Time to be free of the old ball and chain, huh?” I pick up my purse and pull a pen out of an inside pocket. “Where do I sign?”
He doesn’t smile back. Nor does he look even slightly relieved or grateful that I’m being super cool about this.
“There’s something you need to know,” he says, holding my gaze.
I go still, because I suddenly realize that Colin Walsh isn’t nearly as calm as he’s trying to appear. He’s holding back his anger, or at least frustration, by a very thin thread, and he doesn’t seem like the type to lose his shit very often, which means whatever is under his skin is the real deal.
My smile falls. “What? What something?”
“Your brother,” Colin says, leaning down and picking up a leather briefcase. He pulls a thick packet of paper out of the outside pocket, folds it back to a marked page, and sets the stack in front of me, his long finger indicating a highlighted paragraph.
I read it. And read it again.
And, one more time.
I look up. “Is this in English? I don’t understand.”
Except my heart is pounding because I’m afraid I do understand. And I can only hope I’m reading the formal legalese wrong.
Colin slowly lifts his eyes from his cocktail to meet my gaze. “This is our prenup. That highlighted section is your brother’s idea of a joke, with very serious consequences for the two of us.”
Oh God, I’m having déjà vu of my wedding day. No lacy white underwear, but I’m definitely sweating up a storm, trying to remember if I applied deodorant.
I glance back down at the prenup. “It says … it says neither one of us can file for divorce until …”
I can’t say it. I can’t even think it.
But Colin’s apparently had more time with the concept, because he says it calmly, as though it’s not about to turn my life upside down.
“We can’t get divorced until we live under the same roof for three months. As husband and wife.”
Chapter 3
Monday, August 17
San Francisco
“I swear, Charlotte, I swear to God, I literally don’t know what’s more upsetting to me. That you’re leaving San Francisco, that you’re married, or that those shoes are from four seasons ago.”
I smile at my assistant’s melodrama as I continue searching through my desk drawer, shoving aside stray paperclips and pink highlighters for stuff that I’ll actually need for my three months in New York.