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Christian nods. "From the board's perspective, the honeymoon matters. If you skip it, you give them another reason to scrutinize the marriage."

"Anywhere specific?" Everly asks, looking between us.

"Your birthday is coming up?" I ask softly. I mean I knew that was what this was all about. Getting married before his thirty-fifth birthday but I guess the milestone got lost in the rest of it all.

Everett's gaze flicks to mine. "Birthdays are just another day," he says flatly.

Everly moves on, ignoring Everett's dismissal of birthdays like they are a personal offense against him.

"If the trust is forcing the trip, we might as well choose somewhere worth going," Everly says.

"French Riviera," I blurt before I can stop myself.

The room goes quiet for half a beat.

If I have to marry Everett Kauffman and share a bed with him, I might as well get one dream out of it.

Everly grins. "Cannes it is. Gorgeous this time of year and I've heard that they are having warmer weather than usual. Levi’s division owns a resort over there. I’ll ask his assistant to book one of the villas for you two once we have a set wedding date."

Everett drags a hand through his hair. "Unbelievable."

Then Christian slides the trust packet aside and brings out the private contract. The one that exists between Everett and me, outside the trust.

This is the part that makes my chest tighten.

Three hundred and sixty thousand dollars, paid in monthly installments over the course of the year. An NDA covering every aspect of the arrangement.

Exit terms.

Breach clauses.

What I can and cannot take from the marriage. What happens if one of us violates the agreement. The exact conditions under which everything terminates. This is the part that makes the whole thing feel less like a fairy tale gone wrong and more like what it actually is.

A contract.

The pen feels heavier than I was expecting as I sign where indicated. Then Everett takes the pen and signs just below my signatures.

I stare at the table because if I look at him right now, my face will give me away. Fear? Nerves? Maybe a little bit of excitement that I'm getting a honeymoon in Cannes?

Cammy would kill me if she could see my face right now. Penelope would only be upset that she didn't matchmake this one herself.

Everly, God bless her, breaks the silence.

"Okay," she says, physically shaking it off. "That's done. Now let's talk about the fun stuff."

She pulls out her own binder.

Of course she has a binder.

Everly in event-planning mode is something to behold.

She has already secured an exclusive wedding gown designer—Trinity, apparently a legend in bridal circles—who is dropping everything for a Kauffman wedding. The venue options include the Kauffman estate and something involving a sky-riser she describes with the reverence most people reserve for religious experiences. Vendors are falling over themselves. Florists, caterers, photographers—everyone wants the Kauffman wedding account.

A magazine exclusive has already been negotiated. Timeline: next week.

I open my mouth to say something—probably something along the lines of that's insane—but Everly is already three slides deep into a presentation on her iPad, talking about table arrangements and color palettes and media angles with the speed of a woman who was born for exactly this.

Beside her, Everett is visibly suffering.