What’s her angle? “You’ll sign a prenup,” I announce. Her face falls. “Why? It’s not like we’re ever going to—” I lift a hand up. “I enjoy you, Grace. More than I should. But make no mistake. I trust you no more than tomorrow’s National Enquirer headline.” She lets out a laugh. “You’re terrible.” “That can’t be news to you.” “Fine. But I reserve the right to have three lawyers go over this prenup.” “Have a hundred, sweetheart.”
