Chapter 2 - THE WEDDING CONTRACT
I read the prenuptial agreement twice.
Not because I distrusted the lawyers.
Because I distrusted everyone.
The document arrived Friday morning in a leather folder delivered by a woman named Sofia Caruso, who introduced herself as Nico’s younger sister and walked into my apartment carrying coffee like we were about to study together.
“You look disappointed,” she said.
“I was expecting a lawyer.”
“I am a lawyer.”
I looked at her.
She smiled.
“NYU. Class of 2023. Don’t look so shocked.”
“I’m not shocked.”
“You are.”
“I’m adjusting.”
“To the idea that a Caruso can pass the bar?”
“To the idea that one would admit it this cheerfully.”
She laughed and handed me a coffee.
I liked her immediately.
That was suspicious.
Sofia was twenty-eight, beautiful in a way that looked expensive even when she was wearing jeans, with the same black hair and dark eyes as her brother. Where Nico carried silence like armor, Sofia filled rooms with energy.
She dropped onto my sofa.
“Read everything. Mark anything you hate. My brother hates surprises, so naturally I encourage them whenever possible.”
“You’re representing him?”
“No. I’m making sure you understand what his lawyers wrote.”
“Why?”
“Because nobody should sign a marriage contract without independent counsel.”
“That sounds almost ethical.”
“Don’t spread it around.”
I sat across from her.
The first pages were standard.
Separate property.
Confidentiality.
Mutual waiver of certain inheritance claims.
Then I found a clause about education.
I read it twice.
“Nico put this in?”
Sofia sipped her coffee.
“What?”
“He guarantees payment of any tuition, graduate program, or professional licensing costs I choose to pursue during the marriage.”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t ask for this.”
“No.”
“He thinks I can’t afford law school?”
“He thinks your father controls your trust.”
I looked up.
She had stopped smiling.
“How much does Nico know about my father?”
“More than you do.”
The bluntness hit hard.
I closed the document.
“Everyone keeps saying that.”
“Because it’s true.”
“Then tell me.”
“I can’t.”
I laughed without humor.
“Of course.”
Sofia leaned forward.
“My brother is many things, Evelyn. Difficult. Controlling. Occasionally unbearable. But if he gives his word, he keeps it.”
“Is that supposed to comfort me?”
“It should.”
“Your family’s reputation suggests otherwise.”
“So does yours.”
That shut me up.
Sofia’s expression softened.
“See? Reputation is lazy. It saves people the trouble of learning the truth.”
I thought about the photos of me outside nightclubs.
Fair point.
I opened the contract again.
“Why does he want this marriage?”
“For the same reason your father does. Stability.”
“That’s vague.”
“It’s the safest answer.”
“I’m beginning to hate safe answers.”
“You’ll fit in beautifully.”
She left two hours later after I marked six clauses and rewrote three.
At noon, Nico called.
“You changed the security provision.”
No hello.
I smiled despite myself.
“I did.”
“You want the right to dismiss any bodyguard assigned to you.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Then why did your attorney ask for comments?”
“So you could feel included.”
I sat up.
“Excuse me?”
Silence.
Then I heard him laugh.
“You’re joking.”
“Yes.”
“You should do that less.”
“So I’m told.”
I looked at my notes.
“I won’t accept a security guard who treats me like a prisoner.”
“They work for me.”
“Exactly my concern.”
“You can request replacements.”
“I want the right to remove someone immediately if they make me uncomfortable.”
He was silent for a moment.
“Fine.”
I blinked.
“Fine?”
“Send Sofia the revision.”
I checked another item.
“And the public appearances clause.”
“What about it?”
“Two mandatory events per month is ridiculous.”
“It’s normal.”
“For diplomats?”
“For married people.”
“Married people do not contractually require cocktail parties.”
“Ours do.”
“One.”
“Two.”
“One.”
“One and one family dinner.”
“That’s extortion.”
“Two.”
I smiled.
“One event and dinner.”
“Fine.”
I leaned back, strangely pleased.
“Was that our first marital compromise?”
“Our first was separate bedrooms.”
“I stated a requirement. You surrendered.”
“You’re going to be exhausting, aren’t you?”
“Professor Heller says so.”
“How do you know—”
I stopped.
“You investigated me.”
“Yes.”
“Creepy.”
“Practical.”
“Creepy and practical.”
He didn’t disagree.
Saturday arrived too fast.
The ceremony was held at St. Anthony’s, a small Catholic church in the Bronx that had apparently hosted Caruso weddings, baptisms, and funerals for nearly seventy years.
There were no reporters.
There were, however, enough security men to invade a small country.
My father waited in the church vestibule.
He looked older than he had three days earlier.
“Evie.”
“Dad.”
He stared at my dress.
My mother’s dress, altered.
She had worn it in 1999, long before my father became wealthy enough to believe affection could be outsourced to assistants.
For the first time, regret broke across his face.
“Your mother would have loved to see you in that.”
“Don’t.”
He swallowed.
I hated that part of me wanted to comfort him.
Instead, I adjusted the simple pearl earrings that had belonged to her.
“Did you know about the man outside my apartment before Thursday?”
His hesitation answered.
“How long?”
“Evelyn—”
“How long?”
“Three days.”
I stared at him.
“You knew Monday?”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t call me.”
“I was trying to confirm the threat.”
“You let me walk to class alone.”
“You were watched.”
“By who?”
“My security.”
I laughed softly.
“Do you understand how much worse that sounds?”
He reached for my arm.
I stepped back.
The church doors opened.
Nico stood at the far end of the aisle.
He wore black.
Of course he did.
The sanctuary lights caught the sharp line of his jaw as he turned toward me.
And then he just stared.
For one strange second, everyone else disappeared.
I had never seen a man look at me that way.
Not greedily.
Not casually.
Not like a photograph he had already decided how to interpret.
Nico looked surprised.
Almost annoyed by his own surprise.
Good.
Let him suffer.
My father offered his arm.
I took it because twenty people were watching and because public humiliation was not the battle I wanted that morning.
We walked.
At the altar, Nico held out his hand.
I put mine in it.
His thumb brushed once across my knuckles.
“You okay?” he murmured.
“No.”
“Good.”
I turned my head.
“What?”
“I’d worry if you were.”
The priest began.
The vows were traditional because apparently one thing in my life still had to be.
When Nico promised to honor me, his voice didn’t waver.
When I promised the same, mine almost did.
Then came the ring.
Simple platinum.
No giant diamond.
I had expected something designed to make newspapers jealous.
He slid it onto my finger.
I whispered, “Where’s the five-carat statement piece?”
His mouth twitched.
“You would have hated it.”
I looked at him.
He was right.
That irritated me too.
When the priest announced the kiss, my stomach dropped.
Nico leaned closer.
“You can turn your cheek.”
Twenty pairs of eyes were on us.
I lifted my chin.
“That would look suspicious.”
“So?”
“I thought this was supposed to be convincing.”
Something changed in his eyes.
“Evelyn.”
“Kiss me.”
He did.
One hand settled lightly at my waist.
His mouth touched mine.
I had expected it to feel ceremonial.
It did not.
The kiss was controlled, brief, and entirely inappropriate in its effect on my nervous system.
Heat rushed up my neck.
My fingers tightened around his jacket.
Then he pulled back.
His expression looked exactly as annoyed as I felt.
Good.
At least the disaster was mutual.
Three hours later, we arrived at his Manhattan townhouse.
My luggage was already there.
The house staff greeted me politely. Nico introduced everyone by name.
That surprised me.
So did the fact that he knew details about their families.
“Maria’s son is starting Columbia next year,” he said as the housekeeper showed me upstairs.
Maria smiled.
“Engineering.”
“That’s wonderful,” I said.
She beamed.
I looked at Nico.
He pretended not to notice.
My bedroom was across from his.
It was beautiful.
I hated it on principle.
Cream walls, dark floors, a fireplace, enormous windows, and a sitting room with enough bookshelves to make me momentarily reconsider the kidnapping aspect of the arrangement.
There was a connecting door beside the fireplace.
Nico walked over and locked it.
I folded my arms.
“Dramatic.”
“Practical.”
“You have a favorite word.”
He put the key in his pocket.
“You don’t have to pretend with me, Evelyn. Whatever kind of life you had before today is your business.”
The words hit harder than they should have.
Because I knew exactly what he meant.
The pictures.
The clubs.
The men.
The version of me he had researched and decided was convenient.
Relief should have been the first thing I felt.
Instead, I wanted to slap him.
“What kind of life do you think I had?”
His expression changed slightly.
“I’m not judging you.”
“You keep saying things I didn’t ask.”
He leaned against the doorframe.
“You’ve dated. You go out. I’m saying I’m not expecting some performance of innocence.”
I stared at him.
Then I laughed.
It escaped before I could stop it.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Evelyn.”
I dropped my purse onto the bed.
“How many men do you think I’ve slept with?”
He went still.
“That’s none of my business.”
“Excellent answer. How many?”
“I’m not doing this.”
“Ten?”
His jaw tightened.
“Twenty?”
“Stop.”
“Fifty?”
“Evelyn.”
I folded my arms.
“I’m a virgin.”
Silence.
Beautiful, complete silence.
Nico stared at me.
I wished I had a camera.
“You’re what?”
“A virgin. You know, the thing you just told me I don’t have to pretend to be.”
His face did something I could only describe as system failure.
It was magnificent.
I smiled sweetly.
“Your investigator apparently needs a refund.”
He straightened.
“You’ve been photographed with—”
“Men?”
“Yes.”
“New York has several.”
“At clubs.”
“I dance.”
“You dated Daniel Prescott.”
“Twice. He thought consent was optional on the second date, so I broke his nose.”
Nico’s expression turned cold.
“You broke his nose?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
That answer came so fast I almost smiled.
“Why the clubs?” he asked.
I shrugged.
“Because dancing is fun.”
“No other reason?”
My amusement disappeared.
I looked toward the window.
After my mother died, I learned that grief was loudest in quiet rooms. So I avoided them. I went places with music loud enough to shake tables and people who didn’t ask how I was doing.
The press decided that meant I didn’t care.
I stopped trying to correct them.
“My reasons are my business,” I said.
Nico watched me.
Then nodded once.
“Fair.”
That should have ended it.
Instead, three sharp knocks hit the bedroom door.
Nico opened it.
One of his security men stood outside.
“Problem.”
Nico’s entire body changed.
“What?”
“A package was delivered to the service entrance.”
“By who?”
“No one saw.”
Nico stepped into the hall.
I followed.
He turned.
“Stay here.”
“No.”
“Evelyn.”
“It was probably sent because of me.”
“That’s why you’re staying here.”
I walked past him.
He caught my arm.
Not hard.
But enough.
We both looked down at his hand.
He released me immediately.
“Please.”
The word surprised us both.
I stayed.
For exactly two minutes.
Then I went downstairs.
Everyone was gathered in the kitchen.
A plain white box sat on the center island.
No address.
No label.
Nico looked at me with enough irritation to burn wallpaper.
“I said stay upstairs.”
“I heard you.”
One of the men lifted the lid.
Inside was a photograph.
My wedding photograph.
Taken less than four hours earlier.
Someone had drawn a black X over my face.
Beneath it was a single line typed on white paper.
MARRIAGE WON’T SAVE HER.
No one spoke.
Nico took the paper.
His expression emptied completely.
That frightened me more than anger would have.
I looked at him.
“Nico.”
He folded the note once.
Then again.
When he finally met my eyes, the amused man from dinner was gone.
“Change of plans.”
“What plans?”
“You’re not going back to Columbia Monday.”
My anger flared instantly.
“That’s not your decision.”
“It is tonight.”
“You promised.”
“And someone just proved they were inside our security perimeter.”
“So improve the perimeter.”
His jaw tightened.
“Evelyn.”
“No. You don’t get to lock me in a house because some coward owns a printer.”
A security man looked like he wanted to disappear.
Nico stepped closer.
“This isn’t a debate.”
I looked directly into his eyes.
“That’s unfortunate, husband.”
May you like
His expression darkened.
“Because you married a woman who loves one.”
