The Prenup - Lauren Layne Page 0,55

begins tying it. “If they ask about the cat, or for whatever reason, the barn, tell them the truth. That I never talk about the cat, and you don’t know any details about my childhood barn in Ireland.”

“You’re right,” I say, taking a breath and sitting on the side of his bed. “You’re right.”

“Do you want to go over the San Francisco living situation again?”

“No, I think I’ve got it,” I say, taking a deep breath. “It was a hard decision, but we made the choice for me to work primarily out of San Francisco because the proximity to Silicon Valley made the most sense for a social media company.”

“And I couldn’t join, because my specialty is financial law, and my primary clients are on Wall Street.”

“Right. And we tried to see each other as often as we could …” I stand and begin to pace. “Damn it, we really should have bought plane tickets more than once-a-never. What if—”

“Hey,” Colin says, reaching out and pulling both my hands between his much bigger ones. “Remember what we agreed. No what ifs. They lead to nowhere good.”

I close my eyes and nod, trying to get my racing heart under control. It’s been a week since we got the letter informing us of a required meeting with Immigration Services in an hour. It’s given us a week to prepare, which I guess I should be grateful for, but I almost worry it has made everything worse. My head feels so full of facts about Colin, about our relationship, about my own life. Everything’s so jumbled, half the time I find myself questioning the stuff that is real.

“What’s going to happen?” I whisper.

“We’re going to finish getting ready. We’re going to go down to their offices, have a casual chat about how our marriage came about, and then I’ll take you for a drink.”

I open my eyes. “You make it sound so easy. How are you not freaking out? Also, why are you being so nice to me?”

“Just trying to soften the blow when I tell you that your dress is on backward.”

“What?” I jerk backward, pulling my hands free of his to tug out the neckline of my dress. I look down and groan when I see the tag taunting me.

“I can’t even dress myself,” I wail. “How am I supposed to pull this off?”

“Charlotte, you are one of the most determined, successful people I know. Has there ever been anything you wanted that you haven’t gotten?”

His question hits me right in the solar plexus, because up until a couple of months ago, I’d have cockily said no. That there isn’t anything I’ve wanted that I haven’t gotten. But looking at Colin now, I’m terrified that that’s changing. That I want him more than I’ve let myself admit, and he’s 100 percent, entirely unavailable.

I give him my sassiest smile and blow him a kiss. “Good point. BRB.”

“Don’t forget your wedding ring,” he calls after me.

I stop and whirl around, my eyes wide. “Oh my God. I didn’t even think—”

I slap my hand against the side of my head, panicking all over again. “I don’t have one! I mean, I had that cheap, crappy one you put on my finger during the ceremony back then, and I wore it for a while, but—damn. I should have been wearing it this whole time, and … Colin, I don’t even know where it is!”

I feel it should be noted that my voice went up about three octaves during that monologue, the last few words coming out as a mouse squeak.

Colin scratches his nose. “Yeah. I figured. To be fair, I didn’t think of it either. Rookie move. I’m surprised nobody mentioned it during the party at your mom’s.”

“I’m not,” I say with a sigh. “Everyone thinks we’re edgy and modern and weird. They probably thought it was some sort of statement.”

Colin goes to his nightstand and pulls out a small box. I assume it’s his own wedding band—a boring gold one, if I remember correctly, which I don’t, because he hasn’t been wearing a wedding band either. At least he has one though. At least one of us is prepared.

But instead of putting on his own ring, he hands the blue velvet box to me.

“I picked up a new one for you in case you’d left yours in San Francisco. Or lost it altogether.”

“Oh, thank God,” I say gratefully, flipping the box open. “You saved my ass—”

I break off when I look down at the