"Perhaps Mr. Geller could summarize the key provisions," Gage suggests without looking up from his phone. "For clarity."
Geller nods, folding his hands atop the document. "The agreement is comprehensive but follows standard formats for high-net-worth individuals. In essence, Miss Everett, you waive claims to Mr. Blackwood's existing assets and business holdings in the event of divorce. However, you receive a settlement of five million dollars for each year of marriage, capped at fifty million after ten years."
"And if Gage dies while we're married?" I ask, the question emerging more bluntly than intended.
Geller's expression doesn't change. "In that event, you would receive twenty percent of Mr. Blackwood's personal estate, estimated currently at approximately four hundred million dollars, as well as lifetime income from a trust established for any children of the marriage."
"And Wildflower? My business?"
"Remains entirely yours regardless of marital status," Geller confirms. "Mr. Blackwood has specifically excluded your business from matrimonial property, guaranteeing your continued control irrespective of future circumstances."
I turn to a tabbed page, scanning provisions regarding children—their education, healthcare, custody arrangements in case of divorce. All meticulously planned, as if our theoretical offspring are business assets requiring careful management.
"There are non-disclosure provisions on pages 87 through 112," Geller continues. "Standard confidentiality regarding Mr. Blackwood's business operations, personal matters, and family history. Violation of these provisions would nullify financial settlements."
Of course. Can't have the purchased wife revealing family secrets.
The door opens, and my father enters without knocking, his presence immediately dominating the room. "Has she signed yet?" he asks Gage directly, not bothering to acknowledge me.
"We're reviewing provisions," Gage replies, finally setting down his phone. "Ensuring clarity before finalization."
My father makes an impatient sound, taking a seat without invitation. "The agreement was finalized weeks ago. This meeting is a formality, not a negotiation."
"Nevertheless," Gage says, his tone cooling slightly, "Penelope deserves to understand what she's signing."
The unexpected support catches me off guard. I continue turning pages, finding a section that makes me pause. "This indicates I must reside at the Blackwood Estate for a minimum of three hundred days per year. I'm essentially prohibited from independent travel or separate residence."
"A reasonable provision ensuring marital cohesion," my father dismisses. "Standard in arrangements of this nature."
"It's controlling and excessive," I counter, looking directly at Gage. "Most marriages don't require legal provisions dictating physical presence."
Gage studies me for a moment. "The provision can be modified to allow travel with advance notification and appropriate security measures. Two hundred and fifty days minimum residence seems reasonable."
The minor concession is meaningless in practical terms—I remain a prisoner with slightly longer permission slips—but the willingness to adjust terms at all is unexpected.
"Page 143 requires my signature," I note, finding another concerning section. "This waives my right to contest any security measures Gage deems necessary, including surveillance,restricted communication, and limited access to certain resources."
"Again, standard provisions," Geller interjects smoothly. "Mr. Blackwood's position necessitates comprehensive security protocols. This merely confirms your acknowledgment of those requirements."
"It's imprisonment disguised as protection," I say flatly.
My father slams his hand on the table. "Enough dramatics, Penelope. You'll sign the agreement as written. Your childish resistance has already delayed this arrangement beyond acceptable timelines."
"William." Gage's voice cuts through my father's outburst with quiet authority. "Your presence was requested for witness signature, not commentary on the proceedings."
My father's face flushes with anger, but surprisingly, he falls silent. The dynamic between them continues to intrigue me—my father clearly deferring to Gage despite his normal dominance in all situations.
I continue reading, finding a section regarding my professional activities. "Page 217 specifies that any expansion of Wildflower requires your written approval," I tell Gage, unable to keep the resentment from my voice. "Including new locations, service offerings, or significant client acquisitions."
"A reasonable provision ensuring business activities don't conflict with security considerations," Gage replies. "Though I'm open to establishing agreed-upon parameters that would streamline approval for certain categories of expansion."
"How generous," I murmur sarcastically, turning another page.
The room falls silent as I continue reading, the only sound the occasional rustle of paper and my father's impatient sighs. I find provisions regarding marital relations—the document carefully avoids explicit sexual requirements while usingphrases like "reasonable expectations of physical intimacy" and "good faith efforts toward procreation" that leave little doubt about the expected nature of our relationship.
"Page 286," I say after nearly an hour of reading. "This section requires me to 'present myself appropriately for all public appearances, maintaining standards befitting the Blackwood name.' Who determines what's 'appropriate'?"
"Within reason, I do," Gage answers directly. "Public appearances impact business relationships and strategic alliances. Appropriate presentation is simply good business."
