“YOU HAVE TO READ IT,” Arthur said, not for the first time. He brandished the tablet at her. Behind him, mud-colored fields sped past the windows.
“Do I have to read it now?” Amelia pushed the tablet — with the wretched prenuptial agreement — back at him.
“No, but it’s been two days. You haven’t even looked at it.”
“I haven’t needed to, because every time he thinks I have a question, your solicitor explains things to me. In very small words.” Amelia wanted to discuss none of this. Especially not in the back of the car that was driving her and Arthur to London, privacy screen between them and the driver or no.
“And I know you’re clever enough to understand it all, which is why I’m telling you to read it.”
“No. Also, you’re a fool, because I may be very smart but I’m not a solicitor.”
