However, my plans were derailed when, just as I approached the front door to my building, I heard a car door open and close.
Then a voice from the direction of the street said, “Kathleen.”
And I tensed.
He was here. He’d been waiting.
Darn.
“Do you always work this late?”
I turned to face Uncle Eugene and found him glancing up and down the street, taking the measure of my neighborhood.
“No. Not usually. But I had to take an extra-long lunch today. Do you want to come up?” I didn’t fake a smile. Things weren’t like that between us. I didn’t feel the need to be polite.
“Yeah. Let’s go up.” Crossing to me, he motioned to my door. His blue eyes seemed to inspect the lock with critical focus as I released the latch, and his frown was severe as we walked down the hall to the stairs. “No second security door?”
I shook my head, climbing the stairs, knowing he would follow.
He grumbled something, but did follow, his footsteps echoing mine as we climbed the four flights to my floor. Once I was finished unlocking the three deadbolts, I preceded him into my apartment so I could switch on the lights.
I only partially listened as he shut the door after us, securing all three deadbolts, before following me into my small studio. Once inside, he sighed.
“This is where you live.”
I tried not to laugh at the dismay in his voice. “Yes. This is where I live.”
He sighed again and I moved to the efficiency kitchen to make some tea.
“Earl Grey, coming up.”
“Thank you,” he responded in a way that sounded automatic, not moving from his place by the door.
Once the kettle was set, I turned back to him, inspecting him. He wasn’t wearing his usual gray suit and power tie. Instead, Eugene donned khakis, a navy polo shirt, and brown loafers. He looked incredibly uncomfortable in the casual attire.
Or maybe it was my casual apartment.
“You’re here about the prenup.”
His gaze came to mine and he nodded. “You turned off your phone.”
“You wouldn’t stop calling.”
“Are you married?”
“Come and sit.” I gestured to my little kitchen table. He eyed it as though it might be a trap. Eventually, he took a seat, looking very out of place at my favorite thrift store find.
“Are you married?” he asked again, his tone infinitely patient.
I sat across from him and folded my hands on the table. “I am married.”
He held very still. “And the prenup?”
“He didn’t sign the prenup.”
“Kathleen—”
“He couldn’t. We were married a month ago.”
Eugene flinched. “What?”
“Daniel O’Malley and I were married a month ago. Or so the marriage certificate says. And the security tapes will corroborate.”
Eugene leaned back in his chair, his expression belying his astonishment. “Well.”
“Well.”
“Congratulations.” His stare dropped to the table between us and he sighed again; this time it sounded full of wonder and relief rather than exasperation.
“Thank you.”
After a long moment, during which I’m sure he accomplished a great deal of scheming, he lifted his gaze to mine. “I’ll send a postnuptial agreement.”
The water for the tea was ready, the kettle clicked off, and I glared at my father’s oldest friend. “I don’t want to do that.”
“Kathleen.”
“Stop saying my name like it’s a magic word, like it’ll force me to be reasonable. I won’t ask Dan to sign anything. I trust him.”
“It’s not a matter of you trusting this man.” Eugene’s voice hardened and his blue eyes narrowed. “Lack of a pre- or postnuptial agreement brings your trustworthiness into question, not Mr. O’Malley’s. Marriage without a contract isn’t just inadvisable in your world—”
“My world?”
“—it’s foolhardy. Caleb will use your foolishness against you; he’ll point to it as proof that you’re unfit.”
“My mother didn’t have my father sign a prenup.”
“Yes. And look what happened!” Eugene slammed his hand on the surface of the table, leaning forward, his typically unassailable serenity alarmingly discomposed.
We stared at each other, fury crackling in his eyes, his teeth clenched. He was visibly upset, and that was enough to make me question my decision about the prenup (or, at this point, the postnup).
Resting an elbow on the table, Eugene shook his head, his eyes moving over me like I both infuriated him and worried him. “He has to sign it.”
“Eugene.”
“Don’t say my name like it’s a magic word, like it’ll force me to be reasonable,” he deadpanned, drawing a small smile from me.