Legal Advisement

Chapter One

Trory. Multichapter. Rory is older and perhaps wiser and considering marriage. She seeks out advice of a legal nature in preparation to make her final decision.

The restaurant he had chosen was elegant, catering to people of means who wished to impress their companions. Both the décor and its patrons were tasteful without being obtrusive. The space was comfortably full to capacity but not loud or cramped. The place settings were fussy and far more extensive than she'd ever needed in a single meal, but she had grown to appreciate such swanky surroundings on occasion. Currently she was all but ignoring the fine china and silver at her disposal, reaching intermittently only for her wineglass as she tapped away on her cell phone. She might have felt guilty for ignoring anything outside her immediate grasp—her dinner date included—if he hadn't been on a call of his own for the last fifteen minutes. He'd rarely spoken, listening mostly and giving infrequent noises of approval. His conversation blended into the light background noise, keeping her focus solely on her questions from the notes provided by her editor and the prep for her upcoming assignment.

His voice was so discreet, in fact, that she took no notice of it until he'd said her name for the fourth time, cuing her in to the fact that he was off his phone and staring at her with intent and amusement. "Rory, did you hear anything I just said?"

She sheepishly lowered her phone, not bothering to exit her email screen. She stretched her legs and re-crossed them under the table as she answered. "I thought you were still on the phone."

"Most people at least register the sound of their own name," he teased gently.

She took another sip of wine, buying her time and allowing her to gaze through the goblet at him. It was always a welcome sight, him smiling in her direction, but the low, romantic lighting highlighted his neat brown hair that cost more to trim than her own and his light green eyes, which were clear and focused on her. Her stomach actually gave a flip. "I was working."

"Then I'm honored you responded at all," he retorted.

She turned her phone off and dropped it into the dark oblivion of her bag, despite the pile-up that was erupting in her email inbox. "I'm listening."

"I was asking if you were still coming to look at the house with me. I've made an appointment to see one in Greenwich next Monday."

Her chest tightened. She'd agreed to go tag along on his house-hunting before her schedule for the coming week had been fine-tuned, let alone before things blew up and got totally re-arranged. She liked being able to check her commitments before agreeing to definite plans, but she hoped he wouldn't mind if it turned out she couldn't make it. After all, he wasn't asking her to live in the house with him, but rather tag along for moral support, as an interested party's opinion. It was at best a sweet gesture on his part, this attempt to include her in his search. There had been no talk of his move being a move for her as well, not that she wouldn't darken his doorstep or enjoy breakfast in his kitchen after waking up in his bed from time to time. It was a growing occurrence with them, over the last few months, that only seemed to grow in likelihood even in the face of both their increasingly busy work schedules.

"You don't need me to come, do you? I need to leave early the next morning for Toronto and at this rate I'll have to skip sleeping between now and then to get ready."

"I thought that trip was next month," he said, clearly disappointed. He never hid his true reactions or emotions from her, which was usually a quality she appreciated, but she hated disappointing people—most of all him. He normally went out of his way to be accommodating for her. She had lost track of how often he'd picked her up in the middle of the night at the airport, the occasions he'd attended her boring work dinners that failed to provide an open bar, and the many times he'd gone alone to his work functions when her schedule conflicted; and all without a single complaint. Most of the time she boasted to her friends and family about having found the perfect boyfriend, all while trying to convince herself that he wasn't too good to be true.

"It was, but it got moved up and the research is mounting. I have interviews to prep for and want to try to narrow down a path for my article. It's not a big deal, is it?" she asked hopefully, though her hopes were quickly dashed when he glanced down and sighed.

"I'd counted on your opinion. It's a major purchase, buying a house."

"I still say you have plenty of space at your condo," she said, echoing her original comment she'd offered when he had first broached the idea of entering into the real estate market for a home in a more residential area. She enjoyed living in the city and assumed he did as well. She wasn't as keen on adding a commute to her day, even to just visit him. She'd thought he would entertain the idea until he discovered how far away the rest of the world was from Manhattan, or that he'd sell whatever he bought after a few months of spending most of his time at her tiny apartment while his new home sat empty. That thought troubled her as well, as she did not have enough closet space to accommodate a near-constant guest, no matter how admirable his abdominal muscles were.

"I have plenty of space for myself, that's true. But I'm actually hoping to find something that will have plenty of space for more than just me."

She blinked several times, his words hitting her brain as a puzzle of sorts, like one of those verbal math questions that offer too many numbers and facts, so that the test-taker was forced to sort through the irrelevant information to find the solution. "Oh?"

He smiled, one side of his mouth curling up slightly higher than the other. He was charming, in a wholly trustworthy way. It was how he earned his living, after all, getting people to trust him. He was a commercial real estate broker, working primarily in Manhattan. She'd met him when she'd gone to interview for her current job, accidentally going up to the wrong floor to find the empty office space where he'd been waiting for a new client. He'd gotten out a good portion of his spiel, showing her half the floor before she'd had the heart to tell him she was in the wrong place. Once she convinced him she was in no way a potential client, he'd asked her out for coffee, which was a compromise she'd happily agreed to.

"There's something I've wanted to discuss with you for a while now," he said, bringing her mind back from the trip down memory lane.

Instantly she felt a familiar wave of fear flood her veins. She wouldn't ever openly admit that she was afraid of commitment in relationships—she'd always had steady boyfriends, living with more than one of them in the past, but never it was never a step she instigated. She knew there was a point of no return in relationships, having learned the hard way, and knew that certain milestones only brought her closer to that point. She'd yet to feel prepared for marriage in any real way, and while she wasn't opposed to moving in with Greg, she would be sad to lose him for any reason, let alone because of her own personal hang-ups. She was hoping to revel in the newness of their not-so-new relationship for just a while longer. Sometimes she mistook the ease of their companionship for the spark of new-found love.

"Alright."

"I don't know that this is totally out-of-the-blue for you, but I hope it's not. You know I've been looking at larger places, and I've been doing that with us in mind."

"You want to buy a place together," she said slowly, taking it in as thoughts of low reserves in her bank account and adding a house hunt to her immediate future filled the realm of her possibilities. She wasn't opposed to the idea of owning versus renting, but she would be a little sad to see her little apartment fade into her past. Moving to New York had been a chance for her to change her life and start over, both with a new job and leaving her freshly single yet again. Even though she was happy no longer being single, she wasn't keen on moving out of New York.

His brow furrowed and he sat up straighter. "This isn't coming out how I imagined. I'm not asking you to buy a place with me, so much as I'd like you to consider marrying me."

Her mouth fell open and she reached out to brace herself on the edge of the linen-covered table. "Was that… are you proposing?"

He held out his hands in an attempt to put an emergency brake on her reaction. "No, at least not yet. You're not exactly an open book in some regards. Most girls start dropping hints after a certain time period—you're always so content with how things are. I've never quite understood if you were just happy with me or you didn't want more than where we were."

"Both, I guess. I'm not with you because I'm eager to get married. I'm with you because I like being with you," she said, emphasizing the last part of her thought.

"That's good, right?" he checked.

She smiled at his uncertainty. He was generally very confident and positive. She found it charming that she had the ability to disarm him a little. "Yes, I think so. Is getting married something you really want to do?"

"I've been thinking about it a lot lately, usually when I think about us together in the future. I've never been in a hurry for it, but now I think about it. It's definitely something I'm interested in soon and with you. What about you?"

"I've never given it much thought," she said honestly. In fact, she'd only ever made the particular consideration once and it hadn't been an easy decision. "I'm not opposed to the institution itself or anything. And now, I'm at a place in my life that I would definitely consider it."

He was notably relieved. "Good. I would like you to do just that. Think about it. Come see the house with me. I want you to be able to make your decision with all the information you need when I do ask."

Her heartbeat quickened as they breached theoretical discussion and delved into specifics. "You're planning to, for sure?" she asked.

His smile was back in place. "I am. I'd still like it to be something romantic and withhold a little mystery, so not next week or anything, but yes. I've got … plans."

She might have been more scared, to hear he had such plans, but for once she didn't find herself frightened to flight. She was still full of adrenaline, but it was coming from a very different emotion. She drained her wine glass before she made a proposition of her own.

"Let's skip dinner and go to your place."

"I'll get the check," he said instantly, accepting her offer without any consideration needed.

X-X

She woke up alone in his bed, a little stiff and tired and very naked. Once she tossed off the covers, she reached for one of his dress shirts that he'd left on the chair next to the bed and slipped it on. Her legs were exposed to the tops of her thighs, knowing that he'd enjoy the view whenever she found him as he moved about the rest of the place, engaging in his morning-off routines. She hit the kitchen first, filling a striped ceramic mug with the remnants of the coffee that he'd already generously brewed, enough to share. It was still hot, signaling that he hadn't risen much earlier than she. She looked around the generous and well maintained space, inspecting it as if it were one of the last few times she'd ever see it, which she realized might likely be true. She'd be in Toronto next week and if he liked the house he was going to look at, he might move quickly if the closing date was set sooner rather than later.

She'd always liked his place, with its modern flair and it's coordinated, if minimalist, décor. He only had what he used, and his home office took up enough space. His briefcase, ever in the last place he'd put it down rather than a dedicated home, was still on the dining table until she bumped it off as she reached for a banana out of the centralized bowl of fruit. The latch was either faulty or not properly shut, and it popped open as it hit the tiled floor. She swore lightly under her breath as she put her coffee on the table and bent to put the papers inside and return it to its prior resting spot.

She remained mid-crouch as her eyes, ever in-taking whatever was in front of them, skimmed in her fastidious speed-reading manner. As she realized exactly what she was looking at and for whom it was intended, she froze.

"That's all you should ever wear," he said appreciatively as he came in through the living room, pausing in the doorway to lean his form and cock his head at the perfect angle to take in her bent position and her choice of fashion.

"Your briefcase fell. This isn't work," she said, not asking a question.

"You're right, it's not. That's just a preliminary measure I requested," he said, bending to ease the briefcase off the floor. He caught her eye and made no move to take the papers out of her hands.

"It's a prenuptial agreement," she corrected, horrified on a number of levels.

"You can look it over. Actually, you should have a lawyer look over it. Mine drew it up, but it's always good to have someone look out for your interests. I requested it be a standard and fair agreement. I figured with us both being so logical and practical, it was kind of a no-brainer should we get married."

"Right," she agreed hollowly, now staring at the page with little to no focus, so that the printed black legal terms blended together in a grey amalgamation. "That's the smart thing to do."

"I know it's not romantic, but marriage requires practicality as well. I know most women want romance and the big wedding and the fairy-tale aspect of it all," he led.

"I don't need a fairy tale. I've never given it much thought, but I have no desire to wear a fluffy dress that costs more than a car or fill a church with fifteen bridesmaids or any of that. If we get married, it'll be a partnership. That's what I'd want," she agreed.

"Good. So, take your time with that. If you need a lawyer, I can get a recommendation for you," he offered.

"No, no, I can take care of it. It's not a big deal. It's just a practicality, anyway, right? I'm sure it's standard and fair, like you said. I trust you," she said, believing the sentiment of her words.

He kissed her cheek and his fingers grazed her leg from her knee northward. "I like hearing that. I also like you in that shirt," he said, taking note of how few buttons she'd affixed after pulling it over her shoulders.

"Oh, yeah?" she asked, letting the papers flutter back to the floor as he slid his hand up under the shirt.

"I'd like it better on the floor," he said, taking her mind off of practicalities and leaving little room for wondering why things might not work out between them.

X-X

The whole damn thing was in French. She scrolled the fourth document of its kind, searching in vain for the English translation without any luck. She groaned both inwardly and outwardly, causing the receptionist to glance up at the noise. Rory realized how loud her frustration was and apologized. "Sorry. Apparently saying I spoke conversational French was a huge mistake."

"I'd imagine it often is," she quipped back, making Rory smile. "Can I get you tea or coffee?"

"Coffee, please," Rory requested, as she searched her smart phone for a translation app that could handle vast quantities of text for the pieces her editor had pulled for her to review before she landed in Toronto.

She was handed a hot cup of coffee and invited to go into the office of the lawyer she'd managed to get an appointment with on short notice thanks to a friend's recommendation.

"Please sit down, Miss Gilmore, I'll be right with you," Natalie Warren, her legal representative in what might be her impending marriage, said as she tapped away at her smart phone. "I'm not usually on my phone like this in front of clients, but my kid's sick."

"Oh, no problem. I'm so grateful you squeezed me in at all," Rory said, taking a seat across the desk from the well-coiffed blonde. Her manicure looked freshly maintained as her fingers flew over the buttons.

"I've never found a good way to say no to Paris Gellar. Many have tried, I know, but I like to keep my name unsullied. I have worked hard to keep my reputation intact, and I learned early on to pick my battles with her."

"I hear you on that," Rory said with a shudder. "How exactly do you know Paris?"

"We were at Harvard together, for post-grad. She was in med school while I was getting my law degree. She actually introduced me to my ex. You?"

"We were arch enemies in high school and roommates in college," Rory disclosed. "Though I think you might have more to hate her for."

Natalie waved a hand dismissively. "I have no regrets. Without my ex, I wouldn't have my kid. Do you have kids?"

"Nope. Though, I guess that might be a consideration at some point in the future," she said, with wavering firmness.

"Right, you're here for a prenuptial agreement. You have a draft with you?"

"I do," she said, extracting the paperwork that Greg had given his blessing for her to take along with her. "He said its standard and fair, but he suggested me getting my own lawyer to look it over. He actually hasn't even proposed, but obviously he plans to."

"Without reading it first, you should know that every woman I meet has been told their agreements are standard and fair. It's smart of you to be so proactive about marriage. I wish I'd been so level-headed about it," she mused as she glanced down at the first paragraph.

"That sounds bad."

She pulled down her reading glasses and put them aside. "Not bad. We were young and impetuous. We couldn't keep our hands off each other. It's basically your perfect recipe for an unplanned pregnancy, even with two very educated twenty-somethings. But it didn't lend itself to long-term marital success."

"Is that what inspired you to focus on family law?" Rory asked, generally interested. She liked talking to people and uncovering their stories. She considered it a job hazard, one that spilled over even when she was off the clock.

"Actually, it was always my focus, before we got together. We had a pre-nup, which was a comical sight to see—two law students, one of whom was very pregnant, arguing animatedly over the contents for hours on end. I felt so bad for that stenographer."

"So you two parted amicably?"

She nodded with a wistful smile. "We're actually still good friends. We get along much better now than we did when we were married. It was him I was texting just now, he's taking care of Asher, our son. He's five and he has the chicken pox. He contracted it from his cousin while he was with his dad, and I never had it, so I'm quarantined from him and it sucks. But he's with his dad, whom he pretty much thinks hung the moon and for good reason. He's a great dad, and he's working from home and handling it all much better than I am. Sorry, again. I'm going to focus on your document now," she said with a slightly guilty laugh.

"No, it's inspiring. How many people have good relationships with their ex-spouses? I mean, if you have to split, that's the way to go."

"Spoken by a woman who's about to get married," she nodded with a grin. The smile disappeared as her eyes moved down the page, and she started making fast, if sometimes lengthy notations with a red pen. Rory found that curious enough, but then the questions started.

"Do you have a trust fund? Any family money or any other assets other than your bank account? Stocks or anything?"

"Um, I have a small amount in an IRA, through work. Other than that, nothing."

"Hmm," she said, making another note and then starting to cross through large sections of type in her angry red ink.

Rory winced, having made the same marks on an atrocious or mismanaged article a time or two in her life. "Is it that bad?"

One eyebrow rose over the frame of her eyeglasses. "It's not the worst thing I've read. It's not optimal, but I'm not done yet."

Rory sealed her lips shut. She wondered what the worst she'd ever seen was, and what had been done about it. She imagined her laughing over cocktails, telling her girlfriends horror stories and feeling very smug about her good relationship with her ex.

She also wondered if being friends with an ex included being able to bring new significant others into the mix with no weirdness. That seemed too much to ask, after once considering the other person your whole world. That led to her wondering if she considered Greg her whole world. Her world was a very big place, with lots to explore and without much to hold her back, nothing tethering her to one spot, not really. As a boyfriend, Greg played a supportive role, and she hoped as a husband, he would continue to allow her to feel that way.

It seemed like a long time before Natalie put down the prenuptial agreement and removed her glasses again, this time massaging her temples before folding her hands in front of her and addressing Rory. "I have some questions for you. I need you to be brutally honest."

"O-kay," Rory said, thoroughly freaked by the turn the conversation was taking.

"First of all, you said he hasn't proposed yet. When he does, do you plan on saying yes no matter what?"

Rory swallowed. She'd read over the paperwork, not understanding much of what it'd said. Legalese gave her a headache and she tended to gloss over it in general. Knowing that fact about Rory, Paris has insisted she see the best and sent her to get the thing verified by the very person she was now seated across from. "Well, honestly, I've only been thinking about it for about two days. I'm supposed to go see a house with him later this afternoon. I'll be on a plane to Toronto early tomorrow, and will be testing my rusty French for a week, so hopefully I'll have time to think about it later as well, but," she rambled, avoiding the answer.

"What you tell me never leaves this office. Talk to me like a girlfriend, not like he's going to find out about it later. That's the beauty of client-attorney privilege."

Rory relaxed a little at the prompting. "I was proposed to before, years ago. A guy I was in love with, and had been with for a long time. I turned him down and it ended in the blink of an eye. Ever since, the idea of being proposed to has given me hives. I thought of it being this idea that would be sprung on me, and if I made the wrong decision it meant the end of things. The way he's approached it, I think, it just hasn't been scary. Until now, that is."

Natalie smiled. "Sorry. I don't mean to scare you. But if you're going to marry him, you cannot sign this as it is now. In fact, in your best interest it has to be completely revamped and will probably through ten revisions before I'd advise you to sign it."

Fright gave way to disbelief. "Ten?"

"Based on your future earning potentials and the state of the wording currently? Yes, ten, if not fifteen."

"I can't go back and forth fifteen times with him over petty things."

"Oh, trust me, that's not including petty things," she said, further plummeting Rory's ever-dropping stomach.

"And that's not bad?"

"It's… protective in a purely one-sided manner. It was set up to ensure that his assets remain in his control no matter the nature of your split. It takes into consideration that as his wife, anything you add to the marriage will be tied into his earnings, yet anything he makes can't be considered part of your accustomed lifestyle."

"That doesn't make sense."

"No, it doesn't. Because logically, which the law never is, if your wealth is a byproduct of his support, then the same should be true. According to this, it's one-sided. You'd be paying him alimony."

"He doesn't need me to pay him money!"

"Need? No. But it's the best way to ensure he isn't left shelling out a ton of money to you. Only an idiot would sign this," she said as she held it up, waving it slightly for emphasis.

Rory frowned. "Do women sign these things?"

"Yes."

"After you advise them not to?" Rory pressed.

Natalie continued diplomatically. "Is this because you love him? You want to marry him and you're envisioning a life with him that would never end in anything other than married bliss?"

"No, not at all. I'm just digesting this. I can't believe that he would have that kind of document drawn up."

"Chances are, he has no idea what this says. It's much more likely that he told his lawyer to draft a standard pre-nup, in a way that keeps his earnings intact. This is what I see nine times out of ten, given those circumstances."

"What happens when things go back and forth all those times?"

"Then I have satisfied clients," she answered with full confidence.

"Satisfied married clients?" Rory checked.

"I can't tell you to marry him or not. That's beyond my scope. I like you, and I feel a certain kinship given the fact we both suffered through Paris during our school years. If you want to marry him, then marry him. We'll get this sorted out. You said he hasn't proposed; that he wants you to consider the idea of marriage. He gave you this to make sure you had all the information. I wish all my clients could be as logical as that. Most of them are filled with emotion and excitement as they're living out a dream come true. They've already signed on and their hearts are set on making it work and are heartbroken to find that love comes with contingencies sometimes."

"I feel pathetic when you put it that way."

"I didn't mean that. I think maybe your dreams run bigger than getting married. There is nothing wrong with that."

"Do you think you'd ever get married again?" she asked.

"I'm sure I will. Being with my ex proved to me that even though we weren't meant to last, the institution exists for a reason. When I meet the right person, I'd like to hope it won't come down to all this crap either, but even then the lawyer in me will probably insist on it anyway."

"Maybe next time you should find someone who isn't also a lawyer," Rory quipped.

"Trust me, that's a no-brainer," Natalie laughed. "Let me draw up a new draft, and I'll send it over to his lawyer. Go look at houses and fly off to Toronto and I'll be in touch."

"I feel like you just lifted a weight off my shoulders. If only you could translate French foreign op-ed pieces that my sadistic editor sent to me, I'd think you were sent to be my guardian angel," Rory joked.

"All I know about French is the wine and the men. I don't need to speak the language to know both lead to me ending up passed out and very satisfied."

Rory's eyebrows went up. "That's not going to help me with my article."

"No, but if you ever find yourself freshly divorced, it will help you get over the aftermath. My free advice to you, before the happily-ever-after can commence."

"I appreciate that, I think."

"Doesn't your office provide you with a translator?"

"Budget cuts. I might pay a local out of my discretionary budget, it just means skipping meals. I took French in high school, but I was better at Spanish. I remember very little."

"I took Latin. I figured it would come in handy with all the legal terms. My ex speaks nearly fluent French. I'd toss you his way, but he's not exactly capable of flitting off to Toronto, since Asher's still contagious. I could give you his email, if you're really desperate."

"That's okay. I'll figure it out, I always do."

"Go focus on work. Let me do mine."

"Thank you, again, for everything. You're nothing like I thought a lawyer would be."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

Rory smiled. "Good."

She left feeling secure in her outlook, should all the worst-case scenarios come to fruition. What she wasn't secure in was getting involved in anything that would lead her down that path at all. She wondered what was so wrong with being happy with how things were anyway. Everything had been so simple and easy with Greg, and as was the usual in her mind, even the idea of marriage was complicating her life already.

X-X

Greg leaned in and pulled her into his side, kissing her cheek as she joined him. She had been rushing, slightly out of breath from her dash from the taxi. She'd nearly missed her train, a combination of her meeting with Natalie running late and the fact that she almost never ventured out of the city. New York had everything she needed, and she'd fallen in love with it as she revamped her life months ago. He didn't mention her tardiness, though he'd clearly been on time, if not early.

"Wait 'til you see this place."

She disengaged from his arm and stepped into the front entry to look around. "It's grand, that's for sure. The entry is bigger than my bathroom."

"Your bathroom was designed for people who were much smaller and was never meant for two people to share," he said. "Besides, moving in together would be the start of a new life, leaving apartment living behind."

"I like my apartment," she reminded him gently.

"Yes, but you'll love this place. You can get your books out of storage."

"My mother was kidding about the climate-controlled storage unit."

"A lot of her jokes are rooted in truth, I've noticed."

Rory rolled her eyes. "My books are in her garage. It's not controlled at all, climate or otherwise."

He smiled. "Keep going. There's a lot more house to see."

She lingered, eyeing the custom woodwork and architecture of the front entry with painstaking detail. "You really want to live in Connecticut?"

"There's a shortage of homes like this in Manhattan. Trust me, I know the market."

She arched a brow at his sarcasm. "It's just so big for two people."

"We'd grow into it. And who knows how long we'd be alone."

"What's that mean exactly?" Rory asked, taken aback by the ease with which he'd uttered the last statement.

"I know, I know, I'm taking liberties and getting ahead of myself. I'm not trying to make up your mind for you, but you should know my mind is made up. I'm sold on the whole package, I can see us here, starting a family. It's a good picture."

She softened at his sincerity. "That's sweet. You're not taking liberties, I just don't know if I'm ready to have kids. Getting married is one thing. I'd marry you in a minute, but I'm going to need time to adjust to moving to Connecticut and having kids and disrupting my career."

She was being brutally honest, in such a way that she was positive that he was surely rethinking his dedication to the task at hand. Instead, he seemed to ignore her reservations altogether.

"You'd marry me in a minute?" he asked.

Her eyes went wide. She'd barely realized she said it, so she figured it must be so true. "I love you. You know that."

"I know you've told me, but it's still a very nice surprise, to hear you say that."

"It's not an answer," she said abruptly.

"I understand," he said, as he pulled her in to him again, looking very much like he was about to kiss her.

"Not only because you haven't asked," she continued softly, but resolutely. "It's a lot to consider. But I am considering it. I met with a lawyer this afternoon."

"You look worried," he commented, giving her upper arms a soft squeeze.

"I've never dealt with lawyers. She was helpful, and I know tons of people do this every day, but it felt like we were taking our relationship and breaking it down for an itemized inventory of worth."

"That's what lawyers do. Let them handle all that. All that matters is what we want and how we feel, right?"

"I guess so, yeah," she said with a tentative smile. "So, there's a lot more to see here?"

He pressed his lips into her hair. "Wait until you see the master bedroom's closet. You'll be the envy of every other woman in the hemisphere."

"That must be some closet," she agreed.

"I told you, it's important you get to see the whole package."

"I'm definitely widening my view."

He caught some tone in her voice. "Do you like the view?"

Her breath caught in her throat, and she pressed her palm into his chest. "It might take some getting used to, that's all."

"Well, you'll have your whole trip to think, and a little while after that. I won't rush the issue."

"I'll be spending the whole trip falling woefully behind in conversations of rapidly spoken French."

"You'll do great. You always do."

She stepped away from him, into the interior of the house, but kept her head turned to gaze at him slyly. "You're biased. You want to marry me."

"In fact I do," he agreed, as he followed after her.