Page 15 of Just Not That Into Billionaires

“Yup.” She looks back down at her glass, stirring with the spoon, now, clinking it softly against the sides. “Okay, I know what you’re thinking, Benny.”

There’s zero chance of that, but I play along. “What am I thinking?”

“You’re thinking, what a tragic ending. I mean, great as it was, right? Our amazing honeymoon to the Bermuda triangle. Monique and Igor will be crushed, naturally. I think it would be best if we don’t tell them, don’t you? It’s best that they continue to practice their acrobatics and juggling, don’t you agree? If they ever have a hope of getting into the French circus, they’ll need to keep up on their skills. And you know Igor, what with his tragic issues.”

Igor and Monique. Of course she’d use them. There was a time when invoking Igor and Monique would have affected me deeply.

That time is past.

She slides the divorce decree closer. I stare down at it.

An international tour was a dream of hers. Back in the Beau Cirque days, she’d tell anyone who would listen. She had visions of a grand dance recital performed against the backdrop of Mérida’s Roman Theatre in Spain. Maybe that’s where they’re going.

“If you could just sign there,” she adds. “I researched it online, and if you don’t have kids together or property together, it’s just this form filed and done, and then a judge has to sign off. Really simple and straightforward. It keeps the status quo. Aside from, you know, us as a married couple, which, well, clearly we’re not.”

Again she points at the line where I’m to sign, or more of a fluid flourish, because even in this she’s graceful. A dancer right down to the bone. I used to marvel at the way she moved through the world, so graceful and confident.

“You would sign right here.”

A line for the signature. A line for the date. And with that our marriage will be over.

Even as a naïve kid, it’s not as if I thought it was the solemn and hallowed affair that other weddings are. Tequila, a wild idea about Igor and Monique needing a stable family. Singing. Running through the streets, laughing like bandits. I saw it as special, somehow. Singular. Like us.

“Just ye oldJohn Hancock,” she says, trying for humor.

It comes to me here that I simply don’t want to. And why should I? People have been speculating about my mysterious wife. Why not give them a look at her? I’m the last person to give a shit about my own press, but it is convenient that she’s turned up.

“Right here,” she says again.

What if I keep her around a bit? Make her put in a cameo or two?

I breathe in her familiar scent—it’s a type of jasmine called Sampaguita, the national flower of the Philippines. She traveled there once with her family to meet distant relatives. The trip had a profound impact on her, judging from how often she talked about it at Beau Cirque. She’s worn the scent ever since.

The more I think about it, the better I like the idea.

I read a lot of business books back when James and I were building TezraTech. One of the themes that struck me was that most successful business leaders have the ability to make decisions quickly and firmly. It’s a lesson I embraced.

Making big, bold decisions has worked for me over the years. Sometimes I don’t know why I’m deciding a thing, I simply decide it and go with it, moving forward with unstoppable force—no deliberating, no second-guessing.

In other words, I go with my gut.

I’ve found that a gut call is usually a correct call. Your gut knows things before your brain does. It’s just how humans work.

Whenever people question me on my gut decisions—decisions that I may not have a rationale for yet—I simply inform them that I don’t require a rationale. In fact, the best response to somebody questioning a gut call of mine that I can’t quite yet articulate is a big fuck you, though maybe not in those words.

“Just right here,” she says again.

“I see where I’m supposed to sign,” I tell her. “But I’m not going to.”

She stiffens. “Right, of course. You would never sign anything without a lawyer reading it. What am I even thinking?” She tries for a smile. “Though it’s super time sensitive, that’s the thing here. But if you need a lawyer to look at it, I understand,” she continues. “But if you could be quick, it would mean a lot. If I don’t get my shit together on this like yesterday, I won’t get to go on tour.”

She gazes at me, waiting.

“A lack of legal advice is not why I won’t be signing your paper,” I say.

She frowns. “Well...what’s the problem?”

“There’s no problem,” I say coolly. “I’m not planning on signing it, that’s all.” I sit back.

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