CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
NORA
Engagement, Week Four
The prenuptial agreement is seventy-one pages and deeply romantic.
It protects my photography archive, future royalties, studio ownership, and publishing rights.
It protects Rhett's existing contracts, pension, endorsements, and team equity.
The house is equal. The foundation remains governed independently.
Neither spouse may sign away the other's name, image, work, or privacy.
Maren adds a clause requiring written consent before either of us participates in media centered on the marriage.
"This is because of documentaries," she says.
"This is because we are idiots," I say.
"Legally, both."
Rhett reads every page.
Not just the signature tabs.
At the conference table, he asks questions about licensing, debt, and what happens if my book becomes a larger franchise. His attorney suggests a sunset clause after ten years.
Rhett says, "Her work remains hers after ten years."
I look at him.
"We can share income we consciously choose to share," he says. "Marriage should not make ownership automatic."
The old wound aches once, then settles.
After signing, we walk to the courthouse steps where we married the first time.
Bob—Robert—is no longer the clerk. The building looks smaller than memory.
"Do you regret that wedding?" Rhett asks.
"No."
"Even knowing what happened?"
"I loved you. I meant the vows. Regret would make my younger self foolish for not predicting everything. She was hopeful, not foolish."
He touches my ring. "I regret what I did afterward. Not that you married me."
"Good distinction."
We sit on the steps and eat fries from the diner where our first wedding lunch cost twenty-six dollars.
A passerby recognizes Rhett and asks for a photograph. He looks at me.
I nod.
The woman takes one picture of us together, laughing with paper cartons in our laps.
It becomes my favorite engagement photograph.
No stylist. No sponsor. No hiding.