that he had to go, had things to do, but I couldn’t just sign a prenup. The discussion elevated to a full-on fight, with both of us screaming at each other, both of us using the same piece of logic to argue our very different opinions.” I took in another deep breath and then pushed it out, trying not to let the emotions of that one evening so long ago seep into my reality now.
“I kept asking him, ‘If you don’t ever see us getting divorced, then why should I have to sign this?’ And he kept asking me, ‘If you don’t ever see us getting divorced, then why don’t you sign it?’” I shook my head at the memory, looking down at my hands resting on the tabletop. “It was a cyclical fight, one that we fought for over an hour, yelling at each other. The fight only ended when I picked up the pen and signed the papers, stupidly, without reading them thoroughly.” A small laugh escaped my lips, surprising even me. “Thinking about it now, the fight was probably part of his plan. He needed to distract me somehow, get me riled up about something, push me so far that I’d do something so entirely stupid, and it worked. Here I am. Trying to fight against that stupid piece of paper I signed so long ago – a young bride hoping for a fairytale.”
“What did the contract say about cheating?” Preston’s voice was soft, which surprised me, causing me to look up into his eyes, and his face matched his voice. Softness.
“The prenup states, which I didn’t find out until two years later when I finally grew a brain cell and looked at it, that if I divorced him for any reason, other than adultery, I would leave the marriage with exactly what I came into it with. Which, to be clear, was absolutely nothing.”
Preston was quiet for a moment, his thumb running back and forth over the side of his glass. “So you think he’s cheating, and you need me to get proof so you don’t walk away empty handed?”
“I already have proof,” I stated quickly. “What I need you to find is solid proof. Irrefutable proof.” I leaned closer to him. “I refuse to walk away with nothing. I’ve spent the last seven years supporting him, helping him build his business, being the picture-perfect wife, and I’ll be damned if he gets to keep everything.”
“Careful,” he said quietly. “You’ll start to sound like the bitter, jilted wife.”
“Maybe I am the bitter, jilted wife.”
“What does the contract say about you?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, what are the stipulations regarding your extramarital affairs?”
“Same. If he walks away for any reason other than adultery, he forfeits everything to me. Except, if I cheat on him, I’m on the line for punitive damages. I’d be left with nothing except a bill for one hundred thousand dollars.”
“And what if you can prove he’s cheating?”
“Half. Of everything.”
“So, he cheats you get half. You cheat you owe one hundred grand.”
“That pretty much sums it up.”
“So, have you?”
“Have I what?”
“Cheated?”
“That’s none of your business, and has no bearing on what I’m hiring you to investigate.”
“Yeah, but I’m interested as fuck.”
Hearing him say ‘fuck’ sent shocks of electricity through my veins – another primal reaction to him I desperately wanted to ignore. But I wanted to hear him say that word over and over again, wanted to watch his lips caress that word. I crossed my legs under the table, trying to relieve some of the pressure that was starting to build there. He watched me squirm and I might have seen his eyes shift from curios to aroused.
“Well, you’ll have to live in your curiosity, because my sex life is none of your concern.”
“Fine, have it your way, sweetheart,” he said as he took another sip of his scotch. “You say you’ve already got proof of his infidelity. So why,