Page 17 of Just Not That Into Billionaires

I pantomime picking the phone back up. “Oh, and by the way—consider investing in steam locomotives. Just a quick tip!” I put the phone back down again.

“Why are you being like this? It’s a piece of paper. Why would you even care? Why would you even want to be married to me?”

“Why would I want to be divorced from you when you’ve been the perfect wife?” I ask.

“Be serious, Benny,” she says.

“I am being serious. You’ve been an amazing tax break. You make no demands. You’re a handy keep-out sign to the legions of gold diggers out there.”

She stiffens, and then she smiles. She’s laughing. “Omigod, Benny!” she says. “You are the most hilarious. Were you like, ready with this whole spiel the whole time? Lying in wait for the day I realized we were married? Planning this?”

She’s grinning, still hoping that this is all a joke. If there’s one thing that Francine has always possessed a great deal of, it’s wishful thinking. As a stunningly beautiful woman, she could misjudge reality in her delightfully hopeful way and people would scurry to rearrange things to keep that delight going.

“Dude,” she continues. “Come on.”

“I’m not in the habit of signing away things of mine for nothing,” I inform her.

“But aren’t you glad that I only want you to sign this paper? Some women would try to get money from you.”

“Some women would try, it’s true. And my lawyer would rip them apart like a lion would rip apart a feather pillow.”

Her pretty lips part.

There was a time when I would have given Francine the world. It would have never crossed my mind to say “no” to her, to deny her anything. That time is gone.

I find, in fact, that there’s a certain pleasure to saying “no” to her.

More than pleasure; it’s a stone-cold rush crackling through my veins.

“You can’t just make me be married to you,” she says.

“Actually, I can,” I say. “Isn’t it awesome?”

“Whyare you being like this?” she asks. “I need this.”

I taste my soup. It’s more delicious than usual. Rich with tomato and pungent basil, just the perfect amount of salt. I crumble in a thick artisanal cracker.

When I look back up, her rosy lips are again parted, this time in not-so-friendly surprise. “Benny,” she cajoles. “I’m sure you can find another…tax break,”she continues. “Another shield from the gold-digging hordes of females.”

“Why should I get a different wife when I already haveyou?” I wipe the crumbs from my fingers, movements smooth and slow. “Weddings are a bore. I’m so glad we eloped, aren’t you?”

“Benny, please,” she says. “If I don’t get a judge to sign off on this thing in thirty days or less, I won’t get the affidavit or my travel papers, and I’ll be kicked off the most important dance tour of my life! There’s never going to be an opportunity like this again for me. I’m thirty-one now. Dancers start retiring at my age and…” She looks down, not finishing her sentence. She wouldn’t have lined up anything else. Francine goes for broke.

“Travel papers in thirty days,” I say. “Piece of cake. But you’ll have to do a few things for me.”

Francine looks up at me, shocked. “Excuse me?”

“I’ll do this thing for you. I’ll use my connections to get a judge to sign off on divorce and travel documents, but you’re going to do some things for me first.”

“What are you? The Godfather?”

I wait.

“Like what?” she asks.

“For starters, you’re going to attend a few business functions with me,” I hear myself decreeing. “As my wife. People haven’t met you, and there’s a good deal of strange and ridiculous speculation about us. It’ll be good for people to meet you. Nature abhors a vacuum and all of that, including a vacuum of information. This wife of mine that nobody has ever met…”

“Strange and ridiculous speculation about us?” she asks, eyes twinkling. “I totally can’t imagine, considering your sunny disposition.”

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