“This is extremely generous,” Joe Bendeck informs me.
Joe is standing over me and Douglas in our living room, taking me through the terms of the prenup. Douglas didn’t give it to me that night. He waited a few more days, softening the blow with some flowers and a diamond necklace from Tiffany’s. It didn’t soften the blow very much.
“I don’t feel comfortable with the idea of a prenup.” I look over at Douglas, who is sitting next to me, dressed like a complete slob in jeans and a T-shirt. “Honey, must we go through this?”
“It’s very generous,” Joe says again. “Ten million dollars if you get divorced. But you can’t go after any of his other assets.”
“I don’t want his assets.” I put my hand on Douglas’s knee. The fabric of his jeans feels worn beneath my hand. “I just want to get married in peace.”
“So sign it,” Joe says. “And I won’t bug you about it ever again.”
“I just…” I pull out an embroidered handkerchief from my pocket and dab at my eyes. “I thought you trusted me, Douglas.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Joe mutters. “Doug, are you really falling for this crap?”
Douglas shoots his friend a look, and he throws his arm around my shoulders. He is a sucker for a woman crying. “Wendy, it’s not like that at all. I do trust you. And I love you so much.”
I lift my tear-stained face to look at him. “I love you too.”
“But,” he adds, “I can’t marry you without a prenup. I’m sorry.”
I see in Douglas’s brown eyes that he means it. Joe has convinced him, and now he is drinking the Kool-Aid.
I sneak a look at the papers on the coffee table in front of me. It’s a stack two inches thick. But Joe has highlighted the main points for me. It says in black and white that if we get divorced, I will get ten million dollars. That’s nowhere near half of what Douglas is worth, but it’s nothing to sneeze at. It will keep me comfortable for the rest of my life if things don’t work out here.
Not that I expect us to get divorced. I expect Douglas and I to be together till death do us part, yadda yadda yadda. But you never know. Douglas is a fixer-upper, and I admit there’s a chance I may not fix him up to my liking.
“Fine,” I say. “I’ll sign it.”
