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“And I want your prenup,” her eyes glared. “I’ve waited long enough. Where is it?”

“What are you saying? I give you the prenup and I can have the tuxedo I want?” I scowled. Richard stalked over and I shut him down with daggers shooting from my eyes before he could speak.

“Yes, exactly.”

“Look, I understand where you and Richard are coming from. I just need a little more time. I’ll deliver it personally to your lawyers soon.”

With a smug, satisfied smile, she left with her nose in the air.

“You don’t have the prenup signed yet, do you?” Richard chortled.

“Shut the fuck up.” One mother-sized headache quickly multiplied when India and the camera man assaulted me.

“Tell us more about the prenup,” she said.

“Yes, tell us more.” Richard folded his arms, daring me to expose my lie.

“That’s none of anyone’s business but mine. Now, David, measure us all for the modern look, and forget the tails.” I filled my glass with more whisky and drank a mouthful, swallowing to feel the burn. India came up behind me.

“Why don’t I interview you while the others are being measured?” She suggested.

I sighed and stopped all the plotting and planning in my head how to put off the prenup discussion with Chelsea, and put off Mom, as long as possible. “Sure. Let’s get this over with.”

47

UGLY CRY

REX

Fifty-thousand red roseslater and the last major wedding decision was done, after meeting most of the morning and early afternoon at the florist shop with Miriam.

Light red, dark red, and just plain red roses would be mixed everywhere, from the bridal bouquet to cascading roses down our multi-tiered cake, to similar arrangements on tall candelabras on every table at the reception. The Plaza Hotel ballroom would be dripping in red roses. Plus, the Fifth Avenue Church would feature a red rose arch with twinkle lights and roses down the aisle.

It would be a sight. But the only one I cared for was Chelsea walking down the aisle. While she worried about the costs of the florals, as far as I was concerned, we were almost on easy street now.

Other than the seating chart, Miriam shouldn’t have much more to bug us about. We could sit back and relax,enjoying each other before our big day, and maybe find some sense of normalcy together.

Today also marked our last day of filming with India. Good riddance to that nosy woman and cameras. Our life could go back to being all about us, without being cautious about what we said or did for fear of it being made public.

I’d love it if Chelsea and I redecorated my apartment together, to blend our tastes and make her feel more at home here. Although I’d already planned our honeymoon to the Maldives as a surprise for her, if I could convince Chelsea to take off a year from work and sail around the world with me, we’d have a great time. Kids could come later.

But first, I needed to find space to talk to Chelsea about the prenup situation. I didn’t want one between us. I feared even talking about it would ruin the trust we’d built. But with more and more pressure coming from Mom and Richard, it might be best to discuss it honestly and openly and see how my bride would feel about it.

“Aww look,” Chelsea exclaimed, holding up her phone next to me as we relaxed on the couch after the florist meeting with Miriam. “A bunch of posts just updated on Maisy’s social media. The boat must have finally pulled into a port with good Wi-Fi.”

Photos of Maisy on her travels appeared in posts one after the other as she swiped through, each one putting a smile on her face. Some showed her sister with a large group of people, probably the other researchers on the vessel. Others had amazing scenery from ports they’d visited. And several were of her and a man.

“That’s her professor. Looks like they’re working hard, by all the photos of them in the lab. Oh, spoke too soon, here’s some of them eating and dancing in Brazil. How fun? He’s cute. Seems like she’s doing well so far.” Chelsea sighed and brought a finger to the corner of her eye. “There’s a long email from her, too. I can’t tell you how relieved I am to hear from her and that she’s doing well.”

I squinted at the photos of Maisy and the professor. They appeared rather friendly, maybe more than friends, but I didn’t want to say anything to worry her. Suddenly, the couch shook, and I realized she was crying.

“Sweetness, what’s going on? Come here.” I reached for her, but she pulled away.

“Please, Rex, I just need a good cry. We’ll talk later.” She leapt from the couch with her face in her hands and ran for the bathroom. I immediately followed, bewildered.

I knocked on the door, hearing her sobs. “Baby, I can’t stand you crying in there without my shoulder to lean on.”

“No. Please Rex. I’m an ugly crier.”