Three

“Mr. Lassiter is here to see you, Miss Elizabeth,” Gladys announced from the parlor doorway.

Elizabeth’s nerves tightened, but she squared her shoulders and drew a deep breath. She’d thought long and hard about her situation for almost a week, and she’d made her decision. This was no time for second thoughts.

“Show him in, please, Gladys.”

Gladys nodded, and seconds later Elizabeth’s old friend, Wyatt Lassiter, came striding into the parlor.

“Elizabeth, sweetheart, I was delighted to get your message. Although, I was going to take a chance that you hadn’t returned to Mimosa Landing yet and drop by today, anyway.” He held both of his hands out to her, and when she gripped them he pulled her to him and kissed her cheek. “You look gorgeous, as always,” he said, stepping back to survey her from head to toe.

“Thank you.” Elizabeth pulled her hands free, experiencing a vague uneasiness that Wyatt’s nearness had generated not one iota of reaction in her. Not attraction, not revulsion, not contentment. Nothing.

“Won’t you sit down?” She gestured toward one of the sofas sitting at right angles to the fireplace.

In that fussy way he had, Wyatt carefully hitched up his pant legs and sat down, then straightened the creases in the material just so. Elizabeth sat down in her favorite of the two Queen Anne chairs that flanked the hearth. “Ah, here’s Gladys with our coffee,” she said, grateful for the small interruption.

The older woman fussed with the tray and exchanged a few polite words with Wyatt. Elizabeth used the lull to give her guest a curious once-over. Why wasn’t she attracted to him?

He was nice-looking, in an aristocratic sort of way. He was considered quite a catch among their social set.

Though thirty-nine and quite the ladies’ man, Wyatt had never been married. His blond hair was going a bit thin on top, but expert styling hid that for the most part. Just as good tailoring helped to disguise that, like his father, Henry, he was getting a bit fleshy with age, especially around the midsection. Despite those physical flaws, he was still an attractive man. An attractive, very wealthy man.

Maybe she’d never been attracted to Wyatt because he was ten years her senior, and until recently, she had not thought of him as a contemporary. Or maybe she had simply known him too long to think of him in romantic terms. Long familiarity had certainly dulled the romance in her marriage to Edward.

What did it matter? If Wyatt never aroused so much as a flicker of passion in her, so what? That part of her marriage to Edward hadn’t been all that exciting, either. She and Wyatt had a lot in common and they were old friends. She was confident that they could get along well as husband and wife.

Who are you trying to convince, the rest of the world or yourself? a little voice in her head prodded, but Elizabeth pushed it aside.

She and Wyatt would have to sign a prenuptial agreement, of course. Max Riordan had the right idea there.

Elizabeth poured the coffee, taking her time about the simple task, but when Gladys left and they were comfortably settled she knew she could stall no longer.

“I know you’re wondering what it is that I want to talk to you about.”

Wyatt took a sip of coffee, then gave her one of his most charming smiles. “I’m happy for any excuse to see you.”

“Thank you.” Elizabeth stared down at the shiny surface of her coffee, as though she would find courage there. Finally she drew a deep breath and looked up, straight into Wyatt’s hazel eyes. “I was wondering if you still want to marry me?”

His face lit up. “Of course I do.” He put the cup and saucer down on the coffee table and sat forward on the sofa, his expression eager. “Does this mean that you’ve decided to accept my proposal?”

“Possibly.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you’ve just made me the happiest man on earth.” Wyatt started to stand up, but she stopped him with a raised hand.

“Wait. Don’t say anything yet. Before I say yes, there is something I have to tell you.”

He sat back, an amused smile on his face. “All right. But whatever it is, it won’t make any difference, I assure you.”

“Hear me out before you commit yourself. Okay?”

“All right.”

“First of all, I want you to know that I’m fond of you, but I’m not in love with you. I know I’ve told you that before, but I want to be certain that you understand that.”

“I’m not worried. Love will come later. As I said before, I love you enough for both of us.”

“I also have to be honest with you about…about my financial situation.”

For the first time since he walked into the room, Wyatt’s expression turned somber. “What do you mean?”

“It isn’t common knowledge yet, although I’m certain it will be before long, but I’ve recently discovered that, over a period of years, Edward systematically raided all the Stanton holdings and transferred the money to his private Swiss account.”

“What? Why that sorry…” Wyatt clenched his jaw, and his face worked with anger. “I shouldn’t be surprised, I suppose. I never did like the man, especially after he stole you right out from under my nose the way he did.”

“Pardon?” Confused and diverted by the statement, Elizabeth gaped at him. “What do you mean, he ‘stole’ me?”

“Sweetheart, I picked you out as the future Mrs. Wyatt Lassiter years ago, when you were just a little girl. Why do you think I’ve stayed single so long? I was waiting for you to grow up so that I could court you. Before I had a chance, you were engaged to Edward. Believe me, I was furious. Then last year I was equally delighted when he ran out on you. Although, of course, I regretted that he’d hurt you,” he hurried to amend. “But I had no idea that he’d robbed you as well. The bastard.”

Blinking, Elizabeth stared at him, at a loss for words. Was she supposed to be flattered that he had singled her out from all the females he knew? Like cutting a cow from the herd? Without any consideration for her feelings on the matter?

Wyatt stood up and started pacing the room. “How much damage did Edward do?”

“A lot,” Elizabeth said, watching for his reaction. “Except for this house and Mimosa Landing, the Stanton fortune is all but wiped out.”

Stopping short, Wyatt stared at her. She could almost swear that he had turned pale. “Good Lord. That much? Surely you’ve consulted with John. What’s being done to recoup your money?”

“At the moment, nothing. John tried, but Edward was too clever. Apparently there is no legal recourse open to me.”

Wyatt looked as though he’d taken a blow to the solar plexus. It was the first time she’d ever seen him rattled. He raked his fingers through his hair, unconsciously mussing his careful do.

“I see. Well that, uh…that changes the picture quite a bit, doesn’t it?”

“I suppose it does,” Elizabeth replied. Her gaze followed his restless pacing back and forth across the room. In deep thought, he frowned and pounded one fist into the palm of his other hand. It was not the reaction she had hoped he would have. An uneasy sensation began to niggle at her. “From the way you’re taking this, I have to assume that my financial situation nullifies your proposal.”

He winced at that. Sitting down at the end of the sofa, as close to her as he could get, he leaned forward and took one of her hands in his. “Elizabeth, sweetheart, you have to know that I’m crazy about you. And that I’d give almost anything if I could make you my wife.”

Elizabeth cocked one eyebrow. “I think I hear a ‘but’ coming.”

Wyatt sighed and gave her a regretful look. “Please understand. I have to think of my family. I’m expected to marry well. Every Lassiter is, male or female. That means I must marry someone with impeccable breeding, social position…and wealth. You, of course, meet the first two criteria with flying colors. No family in Texas is more respected than the Stantons. However, my family would never tolerate me marrying someone who would not bring additional wealth to the Lassiter holdings.”

“I see.” Elizabeth withdrew her hand from his. “Then it appears that we have nothing left to discuss.”

“Well…not necessarily. Let’s look at all our options before we give up. You could probably get a couple of million for this place, although I was planning on making this our home. On the other hand, Mimosa Landing is a virtual gold mine. Large parcels of land like that along the Brazos River are in short supply in today’s world. If you’d be willing to sign over the farm to me, say…as sort of a dowry, I think I could convince my family to accept a marriage between us.”

An ironic little smile tipped up the corners of Elizabeth’s mouth. “Really? How generous of them. However, that’s not going to happen.”

“But, sweetheart, it’s the perfect solution.”

“For you, maybe. I’m sorry, Wyatt. I’ve already lost most of my assets by turning control of them over to someone else. That’s a mistake I won’t make again.”

He sat back with an affronted expression. “Are you saying that you don’t trust me? I am not Edward Culpepper, you know.”

“True. But that land has been in my family for more than a hundred and eighty years. Stantons have poured their lives into that farm. I have no intention of relinquishing ownership or control of so much as an acre of the place. Whatever it takes, whatever I have to do, Mimosa Landing will remain in Stanton hands.”

Wyatt’s mouth compressed into a grim line. “Really, Elizabeth. I credited you with more common sense than this. You’re romanticizing that farm. It’s just land. Not some sort of shrine to your ancestors. If your finances are in the deplorable shape that you say, you have to be practical.”

Elizabeth cocked her head to one side and studied him for a long moment. Why hadn’t she seen it before? He wanted Mimosa Landing. And he was willing to marry her to get it.

“You’re right,” she agreed finally. “Practicality is called for in this situation. I must do what I have to do.”

Wyatt looked relieved. “Good. When I tell my dad that you’ll be signing over Mimosa Landing to me, I’m sure he’ll have no problem with the marriage.” He reached across the space between them and patted her knee. “I knew that I could count on you to be sensible.”

“No, you misunderstand me. You and I won’t be getting married.”

“But you just said—”

“I said I would be practical. And I will. But on my own terms.”

“Elizabeth. Sweetheart, listen to me…”

Wyatt did his best to get her to change her mind. He cajoled and reasoned and pleaded. Several times he came close to losing his temper. Through it all Elizabeth calmly but adamantly stuck to her refusal.

As she listened to Wyatt it occurred to her that even had she not already made up her mind, his condescending tone would have driven her to refuse him. She’d never noticed before, but he spoke to her as though she were a not-too-bright child in need of his guidance.

Finally, tired of the endless discussion, she stood up and announced, “I’m sorry, Wyatt, but you’ll have to excuse me. I have some calls to make.”

“Very well. Perhaps it would be best if I left you to think things over,” he arrogantly told her while she saw him to the door. “I’m certain that when you’re thinking clearly you’ll change your mind.”

Elizabeth merely smiled. Closing the door behind him, she leaned her forehead against the thick mahogany panel and sighed. Oddly, she felt almost weak with relief.

Straightening, she returned to the parlor, deep in thought, and through one of the tall windows she watched Wyatt climb into his Mercedes and drive away down the long drive.

The nerve of the man. Did he really think she was so dimwitted that she would give him Mimosa Landing? Not on your life.

Although…she supposed she couldn’t truly take offense. After all, her reason for accepting Wyatt’s proposal had been financial. She couldn’t very well fault him for having the same motive.

Except that he claimed to love her.

Elizabeth sighed again. No matter. She knew what she had to do.

She marched from the parlor and down the long central hallway to the study. Sitting at the desk, she picked up the telephone and punched Mimi’s number on the speed dial. Her friend answered on the first ring.

“Hi, sugar. What’s up?”

“You sound groggy. I hope I didn’t wake you.” Most days Mimi retired to her boudoir after lunch for a short beauty nap.

“No, I was just lyin’ here readin’ a fashion magazine. Tiffany’s has an ad in Glamour showin’a gorgeous diamond pin. Sweetie, if I’m lyin’ I’m dyin’, it’ll make you drool. I was thinkin’ about flyin’ up to New York for the weekend to have a look at it. Brooches are gonna be very big this season. I thought maybe you’d like to go with me. We could take in a play and do some serious shoppin’. What do you think?”

“Sorry, I can’t.”

“If it’s the cost, the trip will be my treat.”

“No, it’s not that. Well…not entirely. Listen, Mimi, I need a favor.”

“Sugar, you know you can count on me.”

“I have a couple of questions for you,” Elizabeth said.

“Shoot.”

“First of all, is your offer of a loan still good?”

“You betcha. Whatever you need.”

“Good. My second question is, do you know of a really good private detective?”

She could sense the instant change in Mimi’s demeanor. She could almost picture her friend languidly lying on the brocade chaise in her bedroom, then jerking to attention, swinging her long legs over the side and sitting forward, her ears perked up like a bird dog on point.

“Who’re you havin’ investigated?”

“Max Riordan. I’m thinking about accepting his proposal.”

“What? You can’t be serious! You don’t know anything about the man.”

“That’s why I want to borrow money to hire a private detective. I want to check him out before I make my final decision.”

“We need to talk about this. Give me ten minutes to throw some clothes on and I’ll be right over.”

In slightly over five minutes, Mimi burst into the study through the French doors, her hair standing on end and wearing not a speck of makeup, which spoke volumes about the depth of her concern.

“Now, what is this about Maxwell? You can’t marry a man we know nothing about.”

Elizabeth made an ironic little sound and shrugged her shoulders. “I’m beginning to wonder if we ever really know anyone.”

She told her friend about her meeting with Wyatt and his disappointing reaction.

“You have to admit, if I’m going to marry for reasons other than love, all things considered, Max Riordan’s proposition is looking better and better. At least a marriage between us would be mutually beneficial. I wouldn’t be made to feel like some simpering damsel in distress in need of rescuing.”

“Well…put that way, Max’s offer is more appealing than Wyatt’s. But I hate to even think about you in a loveless marriage. I mean, sweetie, let’s face it. Men are difficult enough to live with when you adore them. God forbid you should be tied to one you don’t give two hoots and a holler about.”

“If you can think of a better solution, I’m all ears.”

Mimi grimaced. “Damn. I wish I could.”

It took the investigator Elizabeth hired, a retired HPD detective by the name of Donald Summers, barely a week to conduct a thorough background report on Max.

In his late fifties, Mr. Summers was a big man with salt-and-pepper hair, a broad, lined face and gentle eyes. Though his size was intimidating, he inspired trust with his solid, steady manner.

Mr. Summers and one of his old police buddies had set up their own investigative agency after retiring from the force, and they had a reputation for being thorough, honest and discreet.

According to Mimi, their agency had done work for several people she knew, mostly gathering evidence in divorce cases, or doing preemployment background checks.

“This turned out to be an easy job,” Mr. Summers related, while both he and Elizabeth scanned copies of his typed report. “Your Mr. Riordan’s life is pretty much an open book. One that reads like the American success story.

“He conducts his business in a straightforward manner—no dummy companies, no under-the-table deals, no shady business of any kind that I could find. And believe me, I dug deep, but there was nothing to find.

“Among the people with whom he does business he has a reputation as a straight shooter. Apparently he’s short on tact and patience, drives a hard bargain and he’s demanding, but he’s also fair.

“His fortune, as you can see by the numbers listed on page four, is enormous. It consists of stocks, real estate, oil leases, outright ownership of several businesses and factories, plus he owns a large chunk of a pharmaceutical company, a quarter interest in a shipping line and several other ventures. They’re all listed in the report. He’s an extremely wealthy, self-made man with a sterling reputation and a first-rate credit history. All the bankers and businessmen who know him seem to regard him with awe. They all agree that when it comes to business and finance he’s a genius.

“As for his personal background, it’s strictly blue-collar. Mr. Riordan had what I guess you could call a nomadic kind of haphazard childhood. His father was an oil-field worker, what’s known in the oil business as a tool-pusher. His mother was always a homemaker. The old man worked on oil rigs all over the world and dragged his wife and son along with him.

“Except for a four-year hitch in the Marine Corp, from his mid-teens through his mid-twenties, Max himself spent his summers in the oil fields working as a roustabout. He used that money, along with some scholarships, to put himself through college. State schools. He earned double degrees from Texas Tech in petroleum engineering and finance. Throughout his college years he was on the dean’s list. He also earned a master’s in business from Stanford.

“His father died about ten years ago. He’s on excellent terms with his mother and supports her in a very comfortable style. She lives in one of those plush, high-toned assisted living communities for wealthy seniors. Her name is Iona Belle Riordan. She has never remarried.”

Mr. Summers closed his copy of the report. “All in all, I’d say he’s a decent guy. I’d trust him. In fact, I wouldn’t mind getting some stock tips from him. I hope this report tells you what you wanted to know.”

“Yes. Yes, it has. Thank you, Mr. Summers.”

After showing the detective out, Elizabeth marched into the study, found Max’s business card and dialed his private number before she could change her mind. He answered on the first ring.

“Yeah,” he barked.

Elizabeth jumped at his harsh tone and almost hung up. She was shaking, she realized. Annoyed with herself, she squared her shoulders. “Max. This is Elizabeth Stanton. I’ve…I’ve thought over everything we talked about and…and I’ve decided to accept your proposal.”

There was a moment of silence. Then, his voice softening fractionally, Max said, “I’ll be right there.”

“You’ll be right where?”

Sitting in front of Max’s massive desk, Troy Ellerbee, his right-hand man, scowled at him as he hung up the telephone and stood up. “You can’t leave. Have you forgotten? We have a meeting with Dewitt Scarborough and his attorney coming up in—” Troy shot back his shirt cuff and glanced at his wristwatch “—two hours and forty-four minutes.”

“On my way out I’ll get Carly to reschedule the meeting. This is more important,” Max replied absently. He went into his adjoining private bathroom to check his appearance in the mirror. Troy followed. After rebuttoning his shirt collar, Max cinched up his tie and ran a comb through his hair.

“What do you mean, more important?” Troy demanded from the doorway. “What could be more important than the Scarborough deal? We’ve been working on old man Scarborough for more than a year to sell us that land.”

Brushing past his assistant, Max returned to his office and retrieved his overcoat from the closet and slipped into it.

“Dammit, Max, are you listening to me? If you reschedule at the last minute, old man Scarborough may back out of the deal. You know what a curmudgeon he is. For Pete’s sake! What is so important that you’d risk that?”

“I’m getting married.”

“That’s no reason to—” Troy stopped short, his eyes widening. “What? What did you just say?”

“I said, I’m getting married.” Oblivious to his assistant’s agitation, Max patted the pockets of his overcoat. Where the devil had he put that ring? Frowning, he thought for a moment, then snapped his fingers. Right. The safe.

He marched across to the other side of the office, opened out the hinged oil painting that hid the safe and proceeded to twirl the combination dial. Again, Troy followed right on his heels.

“You’re getting married? Since when? And to whom? When did this happen? I didn’t even know you were seeing anyone.”

Max pulled the black velvet jeweler’s box from the safe and placed it in the inside pocket of his suit coat. Next, he removed a folded legal document, stuffed it into the same pocket, then closed and locked the safe and returned the oil painting to its usual position. “I’m marrying Elizabeth Stanton. Tonight, I hope. If her schedule permits.”

“Elizabeth Stanton! Good grief, man! Have you lost your mind?”

“Why are you so shocked? You’re the one who told me that the only way I was going to break into Houston society and tap into the old monied investors was to marry a trophy wife. One of their own. Someone with a mile-long pedigree. Elizabeth fits those prerequisites to a tee.”

“Good Lord, man, I never thought you’d take me seriously. I was only kidding around!”

“I know that. But the more I thought about it the more I realized it was an excellent idea. These people are a tight group, particularly the decedents of the original Texas ‘Three Hundred,’ who came here with Stephen F. Austin. They tend to close ranks against newcomers. Having Elizabeth as my wife will open doors—and hopefully some deep coffers for me.”

“But marriage? Damn, Max. How long do you think the marriage will last once she realizes that you married her for her contacts?”

“She already knows that. I laid it all out for her.”

Troy looked dumbfounded. “And she’s okay with that?”

“Why wouldn’t she be?” Max headed for the door. “Our marriage will be a mutually beneficial arrangement. Thanks to her ex-husband, Elizabeth is in financial trouble. She’s marrying me for my money and I’m marrying her for her social position and contacts. We’re both going into this with our eyes wide open.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go meet with her and work out the last-minute arrangements.”

At the door Max paused and looked back at Troy, who stood staring after him with his mouth agape. “Stand by, will you? I may need you to act as best man.”

“Sure. Right. Whatever you say,” Troy mumbled.

Elizabeth had not expected Max to drop everything and come over. She replaced the receiver and looked around in a panic. It wouldn’t take him long to get there. His office in Greenway Plaza wasn’t far from River Oaks.

She went in search of Gladys and told her that she was expecting Mr. Riordan momentarily, then hurried upstairs to powder her nose and gather her composure.

Fifteen minutes later when she came back downstairs Max was in the parlor, standing in front of the fireplace, staring at the oil painting over the mantelpiece. He glanced over his shoulder at her as she entered the room and nodded toward the painting. “One of your family?”

“Yes. That’s my great-great-grandmother, Ida Stanton.”

“Those are beautiful jewels she’s wearing.”

“Thank you.” Elizabeth looked up at the painting in wistful silence. Ida had sat for the portrait wearing a formal evening gown of dark wine silk trimmed in ecru lace in the mid-nineteenth-century Victorian style. In her ears and around her neck were the exquisite gold-and-diamond earrings and necklace that had become known as the Stanton Diamonds.

“My great-great-great-grandfather, Asa Stanton, had the set made for his wife, Camille, for their twenty-fifth anniversary. She gave them to their son Jonathon to give to his bride, Ida O’Keefe, on their wedding day. They’ve been passed down from generation to generation ever since.”

“So they’re family heirlooms. I look forward to seeing them on you someday.”

“Yes…well, I’m afraid that’s not going to happen. I had to sell the set last spring in order to meet payroll and purchase a new harvester for Mimosa Landing.”

Max raised his eyebrows at that, but to Elizabeth’s vast relief he didn’t question her decision. Parting with the Stanton diamonds had been wrenching enough without rehashing the matter.

“Won’t you have a seat,” she invited, gesturing toward the sofa. She sat down in her favorite chair and folded her hands together in her lap. “I really didn’t expect you to drop everything and rush right over.”

“No problem. I’d like to get this done as quickly as possible. The next few weeks are going to be very busy for me. On the chance that you would accept my proposal, I had my attorney draw up a prenuptial agreement over a week ago.” He pulled the legal document from his pocket and handed it to her. “If you can contact your attorney and have him okay the agreement today, we could sign it and fly to Las Vegas and be married tonight.”

Stunned, Elizabeth looked from Max to the document she held in her hand, then back to Max. She blinked several times, at a loss for words. The man was like a steamroller. No small talk, no finesse, no subtlety. Just wham-bam, here’s the deal, let’s get on with it.

“You must be joking,” she managed finally to say in an appalled voice. “Las Vegas? There is no way I will take my vows in some sleazy marriage mill in Las Vegas. I would never do anything so…so tacky.”

“I hope you’re not thinking of staging one of those ritzy society weddings that take a year to arrange,” Max countered. “Because it isn’t going to happen. I don’t have the time or the patience for all that hoopla.”

“No, of course I’m not considering a formal wedding. Under the circumstances, that wouldn’t be appropriate, either. However, if we’re going to do this, I insist that we do it with some degree of decorum. I think we should have a small, tasteful ceremony, either here or at Mimosa Landing, with our families and closest friend as witnesses.

“Believe me, when word of our marriage gets out, there is going to be plenty of gossip without adding fuel to the fire by doing something so tasteless as getting married in Vegas.”

“Hmm. I suppose you’re right. But I don’t want to drag this out. How long will it take to put together the kind of ceremony you’re suggesting?”

“Well, first we’d have to get together with our attorneys and work out the prenuptial agreement. Then we have to get blood tests and a license. Make arrangements with my minister to perform the ceremony. Call the people we want to attend and invite them. Arrange for the flowers and a small buffet. Oh, yes, and we’ll need to buy rings.”

“Oh, yeah. I almost forgot.” Max reached into the inside pocket of his coat and withdrew a small jeweler’s box. “I picked this up last week. The jeweler at Tiffany’s assured me it was your size.” He tossed the box to her, and Elizabeth caught it reflexively.

“What…?”

“It’s an engagement ring. Go ahead. Open it.”

“An engagement ring?” Elizabeth’s chin tilted up at a haughty angle. “Were you so certain that I’d say yes?”

Max shrugged. “I find it pays to approach every transaction with a positive attitude. Anyway, the jeweler said I had thirty days to return it.”

“I see.” Looking down at the box, Elizabeth snapped it open and sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh, my word.” Nestled in the blue velvet was a magnificent, glittering solitaire diamond ring. The stone was large, but the elegant simplicity of the gold Tiffany-style setting kept it from being ostentatious. Elizabeth hadn’t given any thought to rings, but even if she had, she would not have expected Max to present her with an engagement ring. Their marriage didn’t seem to warrant one.

However, she had to admit, if she had picked out the ring herself she could not have found one more perfectly suited to her taste. It was so lovely she could only stare at it, speechless.

“It’s just two carats,” Max said when the awkward silence stretched out. “I looked at bigger stones, but they seemed gaudy to me. But if you don’t like it you can exchange it for a bigger diamond or a different ring, if you want.”

“Oh, no. No. It’s beautiful. Absolutely perfect.” She put the ring on her finger and looked up at Max with a hesitant smile. “Thank you.”

She halfway expected him to respond with a token kiss on the cheek or at the very least a tender word or two. But Max merely replied, “No problem.”

For heaven’s sake, she thought. They’d just gotten engaged. He’d presented her with an absurdly expensive ring. Within a few days they were going to be married and spend the rest of their lives together. And all he had to say was “no problem.” Did the man even have a softer side?

“I’ll also have my attorney set up the Mimosa Landing trust.” Max pulled out his PDA and punched a few buttons with the stylus. “Let’s see, this is Monday. We should be able to get all that done by the end of the week. Which means we could get married on Saturday. How does that work for you?”

“You mean this coming Saturday?” Elizabeth said in a squeaky voice.

“Yes. I don’t see any reason to delay, do you?”

“Well…no. I suppose not. I just…didn’t expect things to move quite so rapidly.”

“Fine, then. Saturday it is. If it’s all right with you, we’ll fly to New York for a short honeymoon. I have some business there that I need to take care of next week, anyway.

“Now, why don’t you give your attorney a buzz and see if he can see us this afternoon. If he can, tell him to meet us at my office in Greenway Plaza as soon as possible. I’ve already put my attorney on notice. He’s waiting to hear from me.

“As soon as we get the prenup hammered out and signed, you and I will go get the blood tests and get the ball rolling.”