All's Fair in Love and Las Vegas

Chapter Eighty-Two

        Later that night, well after the sun had completely set, Grayson came up to me. I was sitting on the back patio, watching the twinkling stars above me. I could still hear the ocean, see some of the waves in the glow of the flaming torches along the shore, but other than that, it was a dark expanse in front of me.

        Grayson held up a thin folder before sitting down next to me. "We need to talk."

        Immediately, I was wary. "About what?"

        "Vancouver," he said with a grimace, handing me the folder.

        It weighed a thousand pounds in my hands. I flipped it open, finding some paperwork and a pen. My heart sank as I said, "Our divorce papers."

        "Yeah. They're all processed and ready to go. We just have to sign them," he said, anxiously raking his fingers through his hair.

        "You haven't signed them," I noticed, tracing my finger over the line next to his name.

        He let out a small laugh. "Yeah, I don't sign stuff until the last minute. It kind of drives some people crazy."

        "Your mom," I guessed.

        "No, actually, my dad," he said with a grin. "He's raised the perfect little businessman–except when it comes to signing things."

        "Well clearly, your company is going to crash someday because of this," I joked, handing him back the folder.

        Grayson frowned slightly. "You don't want to go over it?"

        "Why? I figured you had a good lawyer write it up," I said with a shrug.

        He shook his head. "I mean, if I had been swindling you for the past six months, I think this would be the perfect moment to spring the trap. If it were me, I'd read it."

        "Then you'd sign it later," I teased, taking it back. "Okay, I'll read it to give you peace of mind."

        "Thank you," he said in mock relief. 

        I skimmed at first. Legal separation, blah blah blah. In the event of blah blah blah. Then–

        "Excuse me, what is this?" I asked sharply.

        He glanced up. "What's what?" he asked, peering over my shoulder.

        "This line. Right here. In the event that you die, I'm supposed to inherit six hundred million dollars?" I asked.

        "Well, let's hope I don't die then," Grayson said, his face dead serious.

        I lightly whacked his shoulder with the folder. "If anyone looks at this after we're divorced and you do die, it'll look like I killed you for your money!"

        "Yes...perhaps you ought to die first," he said thoughtfully.

        "Grayson. And why would I even need that much money? I don't even know what I'd do with that much money," I said in exasperation.

        "You'd figure out some use for it. If not, just give it away in giant chunks," he said helpfully.

        I shook my head. "No way am I signing that."

        "That means we have to put off the divorce for another two weeks while a new one is written up," Grayson pointed out.

        It took everything in me not to crack a tooth. Another two weeks would be absolute torture. Maybe I could handle it if we could've stayed in Tuvalu, but Grayson couldn't stay away from the company for that long. Meaning we'd have to camp out somewhere in Canada, which in my opinion, was much too close to Laura. Not to mention I'd be asked about a baby, I'd have to get a legitimate job, I would have to somehow find a house with Grayson...

        "Fine," I ground out. "I'll take all of your stupid money."

        "Just like you used to threaten," he teased.

        "You know I'm going to find something else," I said warningly as I returned to reading. Everything was going fine until I stumbled onto another surprise.

        Grayson received a second folder whack. "A thousand bucks a month? Are you insane?" I hissed.

        "To be fair, those are Canadian dollars," he said, as if that made it better. "So it's more like seven hundred something a month."

        I wanted to strangle him. "Grayson. I don't need your money."

        "I know you don't need it. But if, say, you were crazy enough to consider a day off, you could take it knowing you don't need the money. Or if you get hurt, you'll have to pay for your outrageous health care bill. Or–"

        "I get it, I get it, America is terrible," I sighed. "Point is, I make plenty of money. Shoot, even if I had an entire family to support, I'd still be comfortable."

        He reached over and squeezed my hand. "I just want you to have a safety net. Something to fall back on," he said seriously. "And yeah, if you don't have any crazy, American expenses, you can treat yourself."

        "But I don't need it," I pressed.

        "Jackie, it's literally nothing to me. I could lose a thousand dollars a month and not notice," Grayson said. "It might as well go towards you having a little extra."

        "My gosh, if your mother wasn't so awful, I'd call off this divorce," I grumbled.

        He laughed. "Then you'd have it worse; I'd buy you fancy presents and your own penthouse and a private jet and–"

        "I hate being rich," I bemoaned, dropping the folder over my face.

        He patted my arm in sympathy. "If it makes you feel better, I'm pretty sure that's all the gifts I have written in."

        "Please. I'm waiting for the clause about the private island named after me," I grumbled.

        Thankfully, the rest of the document was void of any more financial gifts. I handed the folder back, saying, "I'll sign it whenever you want."

        Grayson laughed and set the folder on the table. "Okay. We'll sign it when we get back to the mainland."

        I settled back into my chair, my annoyance at his generosity fading. Grayson stayed seated, watching the black, deepness of the ocean. Then he asked, "What are we doing tomorrow?"

        Our last full day before we flew out the next morning. I was afraid to plan anything for tomorrow, knowing that it would be the last golden memory of this vacation. I swallowed and said, "I don't know." 

        "Can I ask you to dinner?" he asked with a smile.

        "Grayson, it's just us. What, were we going to eat separately?" I asked with a laugh.

        "No, like real dinner. Like dressed up and good food and candles," he said with a boyish smile.

        "Okay," I said. "We can have a real dinner."

        "What about the day?" he asked.

        I considered. "Could we go paddleboarding?"

        "Paddleboarding sounds wonderful," he assured me.

        I smiled, lying back and looking at the stars. I think my favorite part of sitting out here was that all the stars were different. They were stars I never saw, constellations that didn't exist in North America.

        "A shooting star," Grayson said softly, pointing at it.

        I didn't believe in silly things like wishing on shooting stars. Yes, they were fun to imagine, but they didn't hold any substance. Yet I still made a wish, knowing that it wouldn't come true.

        I wished this week would never end.