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What had she gotten herself into?
Theo’s butler stood waiting for them calmly in the two-story great room, in front of a wall of shining glass windows facing the terrace, and beyond that, the wide view of the park and surrounding city.
“Mr. Katrakis. Welcome home.”
Wilson seemed imperturbable as ever in his black suit, the penthouse immaculately clean and ready, as if his boss hadn’t just appeared with scant warning after seven months’ absence.
The butler’s eyes warmed when he saw Emmie. “Miss Swenson. I am pleased to see you’re back...” Then his gaze fell to her pregnant belly, clearly visible beneath her white sundress. His eyes actually flickered. A first. Clearing his throat, he said only, “Lunch is on the terrace, sir. Along with the paperwork from your lawyer.”
“Good.”
“What paperwork?” Emmie asked, but Theo only turned away. “Nice to see you, Wilson,” she called, then hurried to follow Theo through the sliding glass doors and out onto the terrace.
Outside was as ascetic in decor as inside, with only a few carefully placed tables and chairs. Stark planters with perfectly clipped greenery separated the terraces into separate spaces, for parties. A clear plexiglass railing, sturdy and bulletproof, revealed every inch of the jaw-dropping view of Central Park and New York City.
In the center of the largest terrace was the crown jewel, a grand dining table for twelve, beneath a pergola that seemed entirely constructed of greenery, white flowers and tiny white lights laced through the foliage.
Turning, Theo stood waiting beside the long table beneath the shade, holding out a chair. She quickened her pace.
“Thanks,” she said awkwardly, letting him move her chair up after she sat. Theo had certainly never donethatwhen she was his secretary.
Emmie looked at the delicious lunch spread across the table and hardly knew where to begin. Roast beef and turkey sandwiches on a platter, made with Mrs. Havers’s fresh-baked baguettes; baby greens with walnuts and blueberries and balsamic dressing; juicy watermelon and red strawberries; salty home-fried chips; chocolate chip cookies for dessert, so warm the chocolate was still oozing from the buttery crust.
Sitting beside her, Theo poured a glass of water from the glass carafe and silently handed it to her.
Taking the glass, Emmie drank deeply and immediately felt refreshed by the cold, sparkling water. It occurred to her that she hadn’t had anything to eat in hours, since last night really, when she’d forced down half a piece of cold pizza. She’d been too busy to eat, frantically decorating her wedding cake. That morning, she’d been too nervous, scared that her impending marriage to Harold Eklund was a big mistake.
Now, her appetite returned full force. She loaded her plate, and each thing tasted even better than the last, from the sweet-tart fruit to the crispy chips and tangy salad. She washed it all down with juice and more water, then dug in to her third sandwich, with the savory cheddar and roast beef with Dijon on chewy homemade bread.
Then her gaze fell on the clipped stack of papers, perhaps thirty pages of small-font type, sitting on the far end of the long table. Swallowing the last bite of her sandwich, she squinted. “What’s that?”
Theo calmly finished his glass of water, washing down his own plate of food which he’d already refilled several times. “Our prenuptial agreement.”
Her mouth fell open. She said, faltering, “Prenup?”
He tilted his head. “Surely you, of all people, knew there’d be one.”
After all her time working as his secretary, seeing Theo Katrakis fight for the best deal and always make sure he could never, ever get screwed by an opponent, Emmie should have expected it. But she hadn’t.
She stared at the prenup.
Resting on top of the paperwork was an expensive pen, edged with twenty-four-karat gold. It was the pen Theo always used, signing with a flourish, when he felt he’d made a particularly ruthless deal. Her mouth went dry.
He smiled, his white teeth glinting in the sun. “You don’t mind, do you?”
Emmie had talked herself into settling for a marriage of partnership if she couldn’t have love, but it seemed even that had been too much to hope for.
So much for trust. Theo was already planning their divorce.
“I spoke with my lawyer,” he said casually, eating the last chip from his plate, “and I’m afraid I can’t marry you without it.”
Turning, she stared out past the pergola to the vast greenery of Central Park and distant skyline, sharp against the blue sky.
“Emmie?”
“Fine.” Standing up, she grabbed the prenup and returned to her chair. “I’ll read it.”
She read every word, carefully. She felt him getting restless as the minutes passed. Like many rich, powerful men, Theo disliked unfilled time. He looked down at his phone, reading and typing with his thumbs, fidgeting in his chair.
