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The same thought has occurred to Ned.
“You expect me to believe it?” he sneers. “That you asked for a pound and my father refused to pay it?”
“It’s true. When we told him that if he didn’t pay the pound, we’d double it to two pounds the next day, and continue doubling the amount for every day that he refused to pay, do you know what he did? He laughed.”
My heart almost stops.
“What the fuck?” Ned says, his voice rising. “Whoareyou? What did that bitch tell you?”
I flinch at the fury in his voice, my mind reeling, echoing Ned’s question. Who are these people?
“Yes, your father didn’t take us seriously at first,” the man goes on, ignoring Ned’s outburst. “Which, considering you’ve already been here twenty-three days, is going to end up costing him a lot of money.”
“And you think my father can’t afford a few thousand pounds?” Ned is all bravado now.
“Work it out, Ned. Twenty-three days. I think you’ll find it comes to a lot more than a few thousand pounds.”
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.”
Thedarling—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.”
