My fake husband's grandmother read our prenup at Sunday dinner. Out loud. Slowly.

It was supposed to stay in a drawer in Manhattan.

Instead it was in the hands of an eighty-four-year-old woman with reading glasses and twenty-two relatives watching.

"'The marriage shall be dissolved,'" she read, "'upon the completion of the merger, or twelve months, whichever comes first.'"

Somebody's fork hit a plate.

Beside me, Theo went very still. He has survived hostile takeovers and one plane crash. He would not look at his grandmother.

She turned the page. She was in no hurry.

"'Neither party shall represent the relationship as genuine.'" She lowered the paper and looked at me, not him. "Dear. Does he know you've been breaking that one since March?"