The door below slams shut, I hear Ned curse. I stay as I am, too stunned to move. How is it possible? They can’t know about the postnup, it must be a coincidence.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
PAST
Ned called me to his study. There was a man with him in a smart suit and tie, polished shoes, black-rimmed glasses, a black bag on the floor beside him. He sat across from Ned, his laptop perched precariously on the edge of the desk, as if he was worried about taking up too much space.
“Darling, this is Paul Carr, my father’s attorney. He has a document for you to sign.”
The darling—a warning that I needed to play the game—set my teeth on edge.
“What is it?” I asked.
“A postnup,” Ned explained. “In case we ever divorce.”
I sat down in the chair next to Paul Carr, and took the paper Ned held out to me. It stated that Ned and I were married on Thursday, August 1, 2019, in Las Vegas and the terms were simple: if we separated, I would receive fifty thousand pounds.
Fifty thousand. I kept my head bent over the document so that Ned couldn’t see my anger. How dared he? But I had prepared for this, I knew exactly how I was going to play it.
I looked up. “I’m sorry, darling, I can’t sign this.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s just that I don’t think fifty thousand is very fair.”
His face tightened in annoyance. “How much do you want?”
“A million.”
His mouth dropped open. “A million! You’re joking, aren’t you?”
I forced a laugh. “Yes, actually, I am. Even if we separate, I don’t want any of your money.”
Another frown. “You need to accept something.”
I’d been expecting him to say that. If it came down to it, he needed to be able to prove that I’d agreed to marry him for money, that he hadn’t coerced me into it.
“Why?” I asked innocently.
“Because we need to have a written agreement. In Las Vegas, we agreed that I would draw up a document for you to sign when we got back, mentioning a settlement in case of separation.”
I looked him square in the eye. “I don’t remember it being fifty thousand, though.”
“That is what we agreed,” he said, daring me to contradict him.
I allowed him to hold my gaze for a moment longer, then dropped my eyes in defeat.
“Alright, then. If I must accept something, I only want a pound.”
He stared at me. “A pound?”
“Yes. A pound doubled for every day that we are married, before we separate.”
“Doubled? I don’t follow.”
“It’s simple,” I explained. “A pound on day one. On day two, my pound is doubled to two pounds, on day three, my two pounds becomes four pounds, on day four, eight pounds, day five, sixteen pounds, day six—today—thirty-two pounds—”
“I can count,” Ned said. He looked at me in amusement. “Is that really what you want?”
“Yes.”
Beside me, Paul Carr frowned. “But if you remain married for some time, it could add up to quite a—”
“A month,” I said quickly. “I would only want it for the first month of our marriage.”
Ned gave a small nod of understanding. A month was the length of time we’d agreed to stay married before separating. Paul Carr, however, raised an eyebrow.
“A month? We stop the clock, so to speak, at thirty days. Is that what you mean?”
I thought of my father, my inspiration for this. I didn’t know what the doubling thing would come to but I remembered how he’d laughed and told me I was clever when I’d asked for an extra day. Maybe that was the key.
“Thirty-one days,” I said. I looked pointedly at Ned. “After all, some months have thirty-one days.”
He gave me another nod of understanding. August had thirty-one days, and we had married on the first.
“Done,” Ned said. “If that’s really what you want.”
“It is.”
Paul Carr shifted on his chair. “I think it might be prudent if I make a few calculations—”
“I haven’t got time,” Ned said impatiently. “Just draw it up.”
“I really—”
“Now,” Ned barked.
Five minutes later, two copies of the amended document whirred out of the printer by Ned’s desk. He ran his eye over one of the copies, then signed both and passed them to me. I read carefully, checking the wording.