Stroke of Luck
“Funny. Usually when the husband sleeps on the couch, it’s because the wife threw him out of bed. But as I recall, it was April who left the bed last night. Did you get tired and take a nap on your way to talk to her?”
Quinn raked his hand through his hair. “Damn it. I thought I’d convinced her. Are you sure she’s gone and not just out for a walk or something?”
Austin shrugged. “Well, I suppose she might be out for a walk. Not sure why she’d take her suitcase, though. And a drawerful of lingerie, the new dresses she bought, and both pairs of shoes.” He held up an envelope. “And a note with her lawyer’s number so we can contact her about the annulments.”
“Damn.” Quinn’s stomach seethed.
April was gone.
Austin sank into the chair across from him.
“So what was that all about last night?”
Quinn leaned back on the couch. “I basically proposed to April, telling her I wanted to stay married to her.”
“Yeah, I heard that part. She said it wouldn’t work, and you went to fix it. Why does she think it won’t work?”
Quinn frowned. “She was upset about me insisting she sign a prenup.”
Austin set his cup down, his jaw dropping. “You were trying to fix things with her and you suggested a prenup?”
“No. She had some memory flash, and…”
If there were a prenup, then he should be able to find it. He shot to his feet and grabbed his boxers, then pulled them on.
“Do you know where the wedding certificates are?” Quinn asked.
“Uh, yeah, they’re in the desk. They were in my suit pocket, and I put them in the drawer the next day before we sent our clothes out to the cleaner’s.”
Quinn strode to the desk in the corner of the living room and tugged open the top drawer. He pulled out the paperwork and flipped through it but saw no sign of a prenup.
Quinn scowled. “You said the suits got sent out to the cleaner’s. Where are they now?”
“In the bedroom closet.”
Quinn marched to the bedroom, Austin trailing after him.
“If you tell me what we’re looking for, I could help,” Austin suggested.
Quinn opened the closet door, then flicked through the clothes until he found the two suits they’d worn that night. He ripped away the filmy plastic over his suit.
“April told me she remembered signing a prenup on the night of the wedding,” Quinn explained as he rooted through the pockets. “After I insisted. That’s why she’s upset with me. She said that means that deep down I don’t trust her. And a marriage without trust won’t work.”
He tore away the plastic on Austin’s suit and searched the pockets.
“I remember that prenup,” Austin said.
Quinn glanced at him in shock. “You knew? And you didn’t think to remind me about it?”
“Well, I didn’t know you’d forgotten. And I didn’t really think about it until you just mentioned it.” He shook his head. “But she can’t be mad about that.”
“The hell she can’t.”
Quinn finished going through the pockets, then noticed a clear sandwich-size bag taped to a trail of the torn plastic. Inside was a folded piece of white notepaper. He grabbed the bag and tugged out the paper. When he opened it, the word PRENUP was scrawled across the top in his block-letter printing.
“Damn it!”
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