ONCE ARTHUR AND HIS equerry left, Charlie and Amelia sat on opposite ends of a sofa while Charlie scrolled through the agreement on the tablet.
“That’s not a good look,” Amelia said, trying to keep her voice light as the crease between Charlie’s eyes deepened.
“He’s right,” her brother said. “You need to know what’s in here.”
“Tell me then,” Amelia said. She crossed her legs at the knee and clasped her hands over them.
Charlie glanced at her hands, then away; she wasn’t wearing her rings yet. She wouldn’t, outside the privacy of Gatcombe, until the official announcement. Too many staff to see, too many people who might call the papers.
Charlie took a deep breath and plowed ahead. “In the event of the dissolution of your marriage —”
“Would you just say divorce? Please?”
“All right. I
