“Right. Okay. I know you said I could call, but if you could… at least Dickerson’s firm, I’d appreciate it.”

“I’ll do it before my next appointment and can let you know as soon as I hear from them.”

She smiled then, and it was a true one that made her green eyes sparkle. “That’d be wonderful. Thank you.”

He stood and pushed away from his desk, smiling at both of us. “That was worth the last-minute trip in, wasn’t it?”

“Absolutely it was.” I held out my hand and shook his, he gripped my arm firmly, gave me that same knowing look as earlier and squeezed my bicep with his other. “Let me know if there’s anything else you need.”

“Oh…” Emmersyn said and looked at me. “We never did a prenup.”

Shit, she was right. We’d talked about it. I trusted her, one hundred percent. We’d walk away from his eventually with what we both had. No harm, no foul. And yet, for the first time, the thought of her actually walking away twisted my stomach. We were married. I knew the exact reasons why, but that didn’t mean like Heather said, I wouldn’t take a marriage seriously.

Fuck me.

I turned to John. “A post-nup? Is there such a thing?”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “I can get a family attorney working on that and get back to you. If that’s what you both want?”

“It’s for the best,” Emmersyn said, nodding. “I think. Don’t you?”

She glanced up at me, nibbling on that damn lip again. I had to force myself to swallow to stop thinking about how she’d tasted. How soft those lips were and how warm.

“Yeah. We walk away with everything we brought into it. I can’t get access to your trust, you’re not entitled to any sponsorships or anything I might get while we’re married, right?”

“Right.” She blinked and looked away. Hell, it’d been her idea, but she didn’t look all that happy about either.

Which meant, hope was on my side—as soon as I figured out where my heart and head were. Because I wouldn’t take another step toward Emmersyn until I was absolutely sure I wouldn’t end up breaking her heart.

“We should go celebrate,” I said once we slid back into my Land Rover after leaving John’s office.

“Isn’t that bad luck? Celebrate before anything’s official?” She pulled lip gloss from her small purse and swiped it over her lips, pressing and rolling them out into a pout. Done, she slipped it back into her purse and flipped back the mirrored visor. She glanced at me. “What? Am I wrong?”

There wasn’t a damn thing wrong with her. Or what she said.

“Fine. No celebration. Let’s go grab some lunch. Be visible.”

Alicia had suggested we spend time out and about, walking the Strip, being seen. The more pictures that popped up of us happy and in love, the sooner people would stop calling her a slut or whatever they were still calling her on social media. Emmersyn and I had both deleted our social media apps on our phones, so we weren’t tempted to look at them, but Alicia had a point.