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Bentley.
    Marty said, “I could punch that guy in the face.”
    I stared at Marty, wondering how serious he was. He stepped toward the gate, and I reached out to hold his arm. We watched as Brennan, oblivious to the world as usual, pulled out and drove away in the Bentley.
    Marty took a breath and shook his head. “I should welcome you to the club.”
    “What club?”
    “The getting screwed in your divorce club.”
    His color had already come back, showing off his pleasant tan complexion, and there was a hint of a smile on his face. He looked like he had just been blowing off steam and Brennan was a convenient target.
    Then Marty said, “Don’t worry, it gets better.”
    “Really?”
    “It did for me.”
    “How long does it take?”
    “It got better as soon as I met you.”
    I had to kiss this sweet man.
    But thinking about the house and Brennan’s new car, I did wonder about what, exactly, that jerk deserved. Not just in the divorce, but in life as well.

Chapter 12
    On Friday of that week, I saw Brennan again. This time at Family Court in the Palm Beach County Courthouse. Even though Brennan didn’t feel like family to me anymore. He gave me a smirk when I walked in with my attorney.
    The judge had read both sides’ briefs, and I felt confident he’d grant our motion to throw out the prenup.
    I listened quietly while the attorneys answered questions about the progress of the divorce and who would be testifying today. All three of Brennan’s high-priced attorneys against my cute little mama’s boy from Boca Raton, whose mother was my hairdresser and had said he was good and cheap. And that he needed the work.
    My attorney shuffled nervously through papers as I looked over at Brennan’s crowded table. Brennan was impeccably dressed in one of his many dark Ralph Lauren suits, but hadn’t been able to resist the typical Palm Beach touch of a turquoise flowered tie. Not a power tie. He didn’t need one.
    My chance to testify had finally come. It wasn’t in the witness box like I had imagined. The judge instructed me to stand right next to where I was sitting and answer his questions.
    The older, dignified man kept looking down at some notes, until finally he said, “Mrs. Moore, has your attorney explained the three main reasons that are grounds for dismissing a prenuptial agreement?”
    “Yes, Your Honor.”
    “And you understand that duress means the agreement was presented too close to the date of the marriage, or some similar issue?”
    “Yes, Your Honor.”
    “And coercion would be like offering ultimatums, and fraudulent financial disclosure explains itself.”
    “Yes, Your Honor.”
    The judge nodded. “Very well, let’s get started.” Now he gave me his full attention and said, “Mrs. Moore, what did you do for a living before your marriage?”
    “I was in marketing.”
    “And do you have a college degree?”
    “From Rutgers, yes, sir.”
    The judge said, “Ah, a Scarlet Knight, very good. I’m from Trenton. We’re the only state without a university named after it.”
    “Yes, sir.” I didn’t know what else to say. At least he was trying to put me at ease.
    “And would you say your income was low, high, or average?”
    I kept focusing on breathing and keeping cool. “Average, Your Honor.” I paused and added, “To low average.”
    The judge nodded and wrote down a few notes, and then, in a very calm and quiet manner, said, “How long before the wedding date was the prenuptial agreement presented to you by Mr. Moore?”
    “Two days before the date we had set.”
    The judge said, “Did Mr. Moore offer any ultimatums? Did he ever say anything like ‘If you don’t sign this, we’re not getting married’?”
    This was another important question. I gathered my thoughts and said, “Brennan said his dad needed the agreement signed, and if not, we’d start off our life together broke. I told him I was used to not having any money. He said he wasn’t and then just stood silently