The Prenup: a love story

by Lauren Layne

  “And you think that’s Colin?” I say, not bothering to keep the skepticism out of my voice.

  “What’s not to like? He’s polite. Successful. Respectful. Considerate.”

  “Uptight? Boring? Absolutely impossible to get along with?”

  “He’s a tough nut to crack,” my father says. “I remember those early years when Justin brought him around, I wasn’t sure the boy had more than ten words inside of him. Came to realize he just chooses his words with care, as well as choosing who he uses those words with.”

  “I don’t seem to be on the very exclusive list.”

  “May I ask … given that the marriage was of the, ah, convenient variety, what compelled you to not only move back to New York but to move in with Colin?”

  “That,” I say, “is a great question for your stupid son. And sort of a long story.”

  One of which I am all too happy to tell.

  CHAPTER 13

  FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 4

  “ Greenwich and Christopher, please.”

  My head snaps up in surprise, and I look across the cab at Colin, who’s just given the taxi driver an intersection that is most definitely not our apartment.

  “What’s in Greenwich?” I ask.

  “Dinner.” He leans his head on the headrest and closes his eyes.

  “You didn’t eat at the party?”

  He opens his eyes and meets my gaze. “Did you?”

  “I had …” I think back to the cucumbers topped with crab and cream cheese, the nibble of carrot and hummus, a single bite of some sort of sesame beef in a lettuce cup.

  Three hundred calories, maybe.

  “No, not really,” I admit. Then I frown. “Wait, is that an invitation?”

  “An invitation to what?” Colin’s eyes are closed again. “To dinner? I’m going to get something to eat. You’re welcome to join, or you’re welcome to have the cab make a second stop.”

  “Wow. Romantic,” I mutter, looking out the window.

  “Why would I be romantic?”

  Apparently I really didn’t get enough food, because I’m feeling unusually irritable at his dismissive attitude, and I’d like to blame it on a good old-fashioned hanger.

  “Hey,” I say, not bothering to soften the edge of my voice. “You’re the one who suggested we play husband and wife for the entire evening. Which, by the way, would have gone better had you bothered to talk to me even once. Or even stand beside me.”

  “I didn’t exactly see you clamoring to stand by my side.”

  “Yeah, well, I forgot my sweater,” I snap. “I wasn’t properly dressed to withstand the chill you emit anytime I’m near.”

  “Well, next time bring your parka,” he snaps back. “If Immigration Services comes sniffing, we can’t afford to have an entire roomful of people notice we’re barely civil.”

  “Look on the bright side, at least we’re doing a fantastic job of selling our impending divorce. And for what it’s worth, we don’t need to worry about convincing my parents. I talked to my dad. He already knows why we’re married. The real reasons.”

  His eyes snap open and he turns toward me. “You told him?”

  “No. He already knew.”

  Colin frowns. “I’ve seen your father nearly every week for the past ten years, and he’s never indicated he knew of our arrangement.”

  “Of course he knew,” I scoff. “Anyone who spent any amount of time with us back then knew it was hardly a love match. And I’m pretty sure he noticed that we literally spent zero time together.”

  “For all they knew, I could have been sneaking into your bedroom when I came and stayed with your family on holidays. Or that we met every weekend to have conjugal visits.”

  I wrinkle my nose. “Gross.”

  “Gross?”

  I laugh because he sounds genuinely affronted. “Oh, come on. You’re the one who just referred to any physical relationship between us as conjugal visits. What is this, prison? And you know full well we weren’t exactly setting off sparks back then. I could literally see your lip curl in disgust whenever I opened my mouth, and I never really dug the whole man bun, bearded homeless vibe you had going on.”

  “Homeless,” he mutters, looking out the window. “Jesus.”

  “Water under the bridge,” I say, patting his leg in a sisterly gesture to prove my point about the lack of zip between us, even as my palm registers his leg is appealingly firm.

  “And I accept your gentlemanly dinner invitation,” I add, because I’m more aware by the minute how hungry I am. “Where are we going? What’s at Greenwich and Christopher where they only serve Guinness and soda bread?”

  “Yes, because that’s all we Irish bumpkins eat.”

  “And potatoes. Don’t forget potatoes.”

  He turns his head back toward me, the city lights casting shadows across his face. “Back then?”

  “What?” I ask, not following.

  “You said we weren’t exactly setting off sparks back then. Interesting distinction.”

  My stomach drops at the intensity of his gaze, but I try to play it off. “You know what I meant. Just that back then, we couldn’t stand each other, and my parents knew it. Just like they know we can’t stand each other now, no matter how much my mom might dream of her baby girl marrying her surrogate son. I didn’t mean that we were setting off sparks now …”

  I’m babbling, and true to form, he says nothing in response. And because I’m realizing this man won’t come out of his shell on his own, I decide to nudge him. “Are we?”

  It’s his turn to look confused, and I’m pleased to have thrown him off-balance for once. “What?”

  “Are we setting off sparks? Do I set you all aflame?” I say, giving him my best Jessica Rabbit look, which, honestly, isn’t all that good.

  “No,” he says curtly.

  And though I can’t say for sure given the darkness inside the back of the cab, I could have sworn his gaze lingered on the hem of my dress as he says it.

  CHAPTER 14

  FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 4

  “ Oh my God,” I say, pushing my plate aside and exhaling with the sheer pleasure of a perfect meal. “I think that was the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”

  “Better than the boiled potatoes you were expecting?” Colin asks over the top of his red wine glass.

  “Don’t get me wrong, I love a good shot of Jameson and shepherd’s pie on St. Paddy’s day,” I tell him. “But no cuisine can compete with pasta.”

  “I wouldn’t know. You ate most of mine.”

  “We agreed to split them.”

  “No, you ‘suggested,’ we split them, didn’t take no for an answer, and then ate the lion’s share of each.”

  “An exaggeration,” I retort.

  Well, sort of an exaggeration. My pesto was one of the better things I’d ever put in my mouth, but his short rib ravioli gave it a definite run for its money.

  “So,” he says, topping off both of our glasses from the bottle of Barolo he ordered for us to split. “How was your reunion with your first love?”

  “The pasta?”

  He surprises me with a grunt of a laugh. “No. Drew.”

  “Oh, right,” I say, sipping the wine. “It was good to see him. Did you know he’s divorced now? That always makes me sad when people our age are divorced already. How does that happen?”

  I wince when my brain catches up to my words. “I guess I’ll be joining the ranks in a couple of months, won’t I?”

  Colin studies me. “Silver lining. Our divorce will free you up to rekindle things with Drew.”

  Huh. The idea excites me not at all. Not that there’s anything wrong with Drew, but the truth is I haven’t put that much thought into what happens after this thing with Colin and I wraps up. I’ve avoided thinking about it, if I’m honest. Lately I’ve been feeling sort of itchy about my life in general, and for now, it’s been easier just to leave my future as one big question mark.

  “I don’t think so,�
� I say aloud.

  “Why not?”

  I give an irritated huff that he’s pushing this. “I don’t know. No spark, I guess.”

  Yes, Drew looked great. Yeah, he’d been funny and nice, and charming, and I have nothing but good memories of our time together. But whatever physical chemistry we’d once had is long gone, at least on my side.

  “Plus,” I admit, “I guess in my head, I’m not really available.”

  He shifts, looking uncomfortable with the train of conversation. “You mean because of our arrangement?”

  “I guess. I mean, I know our situation is anything but typical, but it was easier to forget that I was technically married when I was in California. Here, everyone knows I’m married. Everyone knows you. And what’s really throwing me off is that some of these people seem to think we’re really, truly married.”

  He gives me a sharp look. “What do you mean?”

  “I spent nearly three hours today making small talk with some of the city’s biggest gossips. Were you aware that people think we’ve actually been married for real, and that we just have some really weird modern relationship where we only see each other on weekends?”

  Colin flinches. “I may have let that rumor percolate. Deliberately.”

  “Really?” I ask, fascinated. “Why?”

  “To avoid suspicion over the motives of our marriage. My accent’s faded over the years, but there’s still no mistaking that I’m not from around here. The possibility that we’d marry for the sake of my green card isn’t a huge leap to make.”

  “True. Though, I disagree on the accent. It’s faded a little, but it’s still very much there. And, for what it’s worth, it’s the one thing you had going on back then.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Well, the beard and bun thing didn’t work for me when we got married, and I thought you were super nerdy, but even I could admit that the accent caused a few flutters.” I glare down at my glass, realizing it’s making me admit things I probably shouldn’t. “Damn you, wine.”

  “Very deep thoughts, Charlotte,” Colin says dryly.

  I shrug. “I never pretended to be deep.”

  “No, you don’t pretend, do you?” he says thoughtfully.

  “Um, I’ve pretended to be married for a decade. I’d say I’m pretty good at it.”

  “Yes, but like you said, that was easier when you were in California. It wasn’t a daily charade you had to keep up. Tonight you were jumpy. You don’t like lying, and you don’t like pretense.”

  “No argument there,” I say. “I hate having to lie about our domestic bliss. About the reasons I’m back here.”

  “Two more months,” he says quietly. “Then we can file for divorce and end this chapter of our lives.”

  “Yeah. And then what?” I ask, more to myself than him.

  “You go back to California,” he says, though there’s a slight question in his voice.

  “Right,” I say automatically, because that is the plan. Or at least it’s been the plan.

  But for some reason, the thought doesn’t click quite as well as it should.

  CHAPTER 15

  SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 5

  Since I’ve been in New York, I haven’t been putting my phone on Do Not Disturb when I go to bed, wanting to be available for my team while I’m in a different time zone.

  A fact I regret when my cell rings way too early the next morning. I blindly grope for it on the nightstand, eyes still closed as I swipe to access the call.

  “Yeah. Hello?”

  “You ratted me out to Dad?”

  My eyes fly open at the sound of my brother’s voice, and I sit upright. “Justin?”

  “Hey, Charlie.”

  “What time is it?” I pull the phone away from my ear. “Oh my God, six? On a Saturday? What is wrong with you?”

  “It’s noon here.”

  “And what, you couldn’t do the math?” I gripe, shoving my hair out of my face.

  “You’ve called me about a hundred times in the past couple of weeks. I thought you’d be happy I called.”

  “Ah ha! So you have been seeing my calls,” I accuse.

  “And may I just say, God bless Caller ID.”

  “You’ve been screening me! Your only sister!”

  “It’s because you’re my only sister that I know you well enough to know that you needed some time to cool off. But obviously, you’re still peeved if you told Dad about the prenup.”

  “Peeved?” I say in disbelief. “Just, you do realize that your prenup shenanigans required me to leave my company, fly across the country, move in with a stranger, live with him for three months, all so that I can become a divorcée?”

  “In my defense—”

  “Really? Is there a defense?”

  “In my defense,” he continued, “I never imagined you two idiots would stay married for ten years without ever seeing each other in the meantime.”

  “What did you envision?” I ask skeptically.

  “That maybe some forced proximity would make you realize you two were good together.”

  My mouth drops open. “You were matchmaking? I thought you were just being a stupid jerk. I can’t decide which is worse.”

  “I was being stupid, yes,” he admits. “Can we please remember that I was twenty-four, had passed the bar exactly four days prior, and I wasn’t exactly at the height of professional maturity? But a jerk? Honestly, Charlie, in my head I swear I thought I was doing a good thing.”

  “By forcing me to live with a mute who hates my guts?”

  “It’s like I said, in my big-brother-knows-best brain, I thought you and Col would be good for each other if you’d just give each other a chance.”

  “And what have we learned from all these good intentions? Oh yeah, it’s that big brother knows nothing at all. How could you possibly think we’d be good together? We’re opposites.”

  “Exactly. He was so serious all the time—”

  “Still is,” I interrupt.

  My brother is used to my interruptions and ignores it. “He’s serious and a little uptight. You were all over the place. I thought you could lift him up, and he could ground you.”

  “And we’d live happily ever after?” I say sarcastically.

  “Again. I was in my early twenties. What were you doing in your early twenties? Oh yeah, getting a nose ring, learning to skydive, pushing our parents’ every button, and marrying a guy you barely knew.”

  “I got rid of the nose ring,” I say, picking at a loose thread on the comforter.

  “Exactly, because you grew up and realized it looked ridiculous on you. Just like I grew up and realized that my little prenup surprise was a little ridiculous too.”

  “Can’t you undo it?”

  “Not really,” he admits. “I may have been dumb at twenty-four, but I was good. The prenup’s already on file. Any court worth their salt will see the stipulation, as well as the fact that you and Colin clearly signed it. Without reading it, by the way.”

  “Oh, well excuse us for not suspecting our brother and best friend would set out to ruin our lives.”

  “Ruin? Really?” he says sarcastically. “It’s three months out of your life, and I’ve seen Colin’s place. It’s hardly a rat-infested shack.”

  “Did you know that he goes to Mom and Dad’s every Sunday? I think he does it to make us look bad,” I grumble, flopping back against the pillows.

  “He does it because you live in California, and I married a woman who works for the World Bank in Germany. As far as daily routines go, our parents don’t have kids, and he doesn’t have parents. I think it’s good they’ve filled a gap for each other.”

  “I’m just saying, how would he like it?” I’m still irritated with the entire situation. “How’d he like it if we flew to Dublin and got all buddy-buddy with his parents, if we weaseled our way into favorite child status with his mom and dad?”

  My brother is silent for a long moment. “Col’s parents are dead,
Charlie.”

  I sit up once more, this time nausea mixing in with the shock. “What?”

  “They were in a car accident a couple of years ago. Why do you think he didn’t come to my wedding?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, running a hand through my hair. “I thought you were just like, trying to save me the awkwardness …”

  “Yes, because everything’s about you. He was at their funeral. He asked me not to say anything because he didn’t want to intrude upon anyone’s happiness.”

  “Oh God,” I groan.

  “I’m sure he didn’t expect that you’d know,” my brother says kindly.

  “No, you don’t get it. It’s bad.” I’m out of bed now, rummaging through drawers. “When I first got here and found out he was having dinner with Mom and Dad every week, I said some things …”

  He groans. “What sort of things?”

  “Just … you know, snide little comments about how if he didn’t spend so much time kissing up to our parents, maybe he’d have more time to visit his own …”

  “Oh God. Charlotte!”

  “I know,” I shriek. “You have to help me. What is the national flower of Ireland?”

  “The Dudladilly,” he replies.

  I pull out a black sports bra and begin wiggling into it. “Really?”

  “No. I have no idea. Why?”

  Isn’t it obvious? I have to fix this.

  “I have to go,” I tell my brother, sitting on the bed, and shoving my feet into sneakers.

  “Why? Where are you going? What are you doing?”

  He knows me well enough to sound panicked, but for once, my plan is pretty safe.

  “Don’t worry, nothing weird. I just have to go buy Colin flowers. Sympathy flowers. And apology flowers. It’s going to be a really big bouquet.”

  I hang up on my brother’s weary sigh.

  CHAPTER 16