“Same difference,” he mumbled between kisses. He’d successfully pulled my tights to my upper thighs.

I grabbed his hands and held them still. “But we need to talk.”

“It can wait,” he whispered, leaning back to catch my eye, but his hands didn’t move.

I, stupidly, met his gaze and nearly forgot my name.

Witless.

Then his hands tugged again, and I shook myself, trying not to be overwhelmed by all the heat and promise of his stare. “No…no it can’t.” My voice was unsteady and breathless. “It’s important.”

His eyes searched mine, his glare probing. “Did something happen? Are you okay?”

“Nothing happened.”

“Then nothing is more important right now than me rediscovering every inch of your perfect body.”

“Actually,” I said, gripping his hands harder and tightening my fingers, “it’s about that, Quinn—about all the inches of my body and about not having intercourse before the wedding, and waiting ’til the wedding night….”

Quinn flinched, and his eyes abruptly narrowed into sharp, piercing slits; my heart rate doubled as did my avalanche of words.

“…And other things as well, such as the private clients, because that issue isn’t really resolved, and you need to wear a helmet when you ride a motorcycle. Also the prenuptial agreement status, because I’m sure you’ll want one, because I want one, and also when I can call your parents for a visit, and whether or not we should wait to have children for a few years or get started right away, and how many you want, because I’d like to have at least two and then reevaluate at that point, but I’d like a commitment from you for two…children, that is….”

We stared at each other for a very long time, during which neither of us moved. I was resolved not to speak, because if I did speak first, I would start spouting data related to pre-wedding abstinence, and I felt we should wait to discuss that issue until the private clients issue was resolved. Also, I hadn’t yet prepared my graphs and citations list.

But not speaking was becoming increasingly difficult. Quinn’s eyes seemed to grow hotter with each passing second, though the rest of his face was a stoic mask. I was a little concerned that a bolt of lightning or a nuclear blast or some other plasmic inferno was going to burn a hole through my skull.

At last, after a pointed swallow and a moment or two of teeth grinding, he said, “We’re not getting a prenup. Don’t bring it up again.”

I winced at the glacial vehemence of his tone, and my heart seized in shock—I imagined this was what it would feel like to be stabbed.

“But…but I thought…I mean, I think that you should consider our differences in….

Quinn stood, his abrupt movements causing me to stumble from his lap. He moved his hands from my legs to my shoulders and waited until I’d regained my balance before speaking. “Don’t.”

I blinked up at him. “I can see that you’re serious. But I don’t understand why we can’t even discuss it. If you would just listen, I think you would see that….”

“No.” He shook his head, removing his hands and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Why not?”

“Because, just thinking about it makes me want to throw this table out that window.” He pointed to the table then the window in turn, emphasizing the coolly spoken threat.

I frowned and tried to surreptitiously put to rights my underwear and tights. “That’s ridiculous. A prenup is meant to….”

I didn’t get to finish, because Quinn turned away from me and stalked to the bedroom, pulling his suit jacket from his shoulders with rigid, stiff movements. I stared at his retreating form for two beats then finished fixing my tights and followed him.

He was angry, really, really angry, and I couldn’t fathom why. Of all the topics I’d covered, the prenup was the very last one I thought he’d take issue with.

I suddenly realized that this was a fight. We were having a fight, a real fight. Logically, I recognized that it was a good data point.

But I didn’t like it, because my throat felt tight and dread was coursing through my veins. My neck was hot and my scalp itched.

I’d never felt like this before, hot and cold, angry and anxious. I wanted to apologize, to escape this uncomfortable sensation, but my stubborn resolve wouldn’t let me because I didn’t feel like I was in the wrong.

I lifted my voice as I chased him into the bedroom. “A prenup is meant to protect you, your business, your assets in the event that our marriage ends. It’s a good thing, Quinn! There is nothing wrong with defining terms for divorce now so that our future break will be as seamless and painless as possible.”

Quinn spun on me, backed me into his dresser, and everything about him looked furious. “There isn’t going to be a future break.”

“You don’t know….”

“Yes, Janie, I do know. And the fact that you even brought it up…are you trying to hurt me?”

My mouth dropped open and I flinched, because I was completely astonished by his accusation. “What? No! No, Quinn, I’m doing this because I care about you.”

“Are you going to leave me?”

“What? No…!”

“Then drop it.” His eyes sliced through me, and he turned toward the closet, moving like a panther.

I gathered a deep breath and glanced at the ceiling for help. Unsurprisingly, it offered none. Since I couldn’t bring up any of the other very important issues until he calmed down—as they would likely be tainted by association—I decided to take a different approach.

“It occurs to me….” I inhaled another steadying breath, hoped it would even my tone so I didn’t sound quite so shaken. “It occurs to me that this is our first fight. How we move forward from here, what we learn from this interaction, how to talk to each other in particular, is very important. Therefore, it would be really great if we could discuss this calmly.”

I couldn’t see him because he was inside the walk-in closet, but I heard him huff an extremely bitter laugh just before three drawers slammed. An instant later, he was standing in the doorway, his arms braced on the trim, his large body filling the entire space.

“You’re driving me f**king crazy,” he said.

My eyelashes fluttered due to his bluntly spoken proclamation and his use of the f-word—since he rarely cursed, at least in front of me—and I instinctively crossed my arms over my chest.

“Well, if you’re expecting me to apologize for doing absolutely nothing wrong, then you’ll be waiting for a very long time. I honestly have no idea why you’re so upset.”

“Doing nothing wrong?” His usual outward façade of indifference was completely shattered. I was having difficulty adjusting to all the emotions twisting his features. “You’re planning the end of our marriage.”

“I am doing nothing of the sort!”

“Do you not trust me? Is this what this is about? How long is it going to take? What do I have to do?” Quinn’s voice rose with every question until he was full-on shouting at me. “Just tell me what to do, Janie. What other tests are required?”

I sighed and my eyes stung because his words hurt. In fact, my chin wobbled and I couldn’t stop it. It made my words come out as watery and strained. “None of this is about testing you, Quinn.”

“That is complete bullshit! That’s what all of this is about.”

I stepped toward him, surprised that my voice also arrived as a shout. “Can’t you understand that I want to protect you? Even from my future self, I want you to be safe. I come from a long line of crazy women. We cheat on our husbands, abandon our families, use our sisters’ boyfriends as ashtrays and toilets. I started therapy before I was a teenager.”

He winced, his hands dropping from the closet frame, and I noted that his expression had softened, but I wasn’t finished.

“I’m a ticking time bomb of crazy—you just said so! I drive you crazy. Maybe it’ll never happen—maybe I won’t go nuts; I’d like to think I won’t. But I’d feel a lot better if I knew you were protected. You know I like labels. I like clarity and defined expectations, because without them I’m lost. It’s your money. I don’t want it. A prenup for you isn’t about me not believing in you. It’s about….”

“Shh, Janie, that’s enough.” Quinn’s voice was soft as he crossed to me in four steps and wrapped me in his arms—which were now bare along with his chest. He’d removed his shirt while in the closet.

I gripped his biceps and snuggled against the warmth of his skin, pressing my cheek to his chest so that I could feel his heartbeat.

“I don’t want a prenup,” he said, giving me a squeeze. “I don’t want it, and just thinking about it makes me….” I felt him swallow before he finished his thought. “It pisses me off.”

I nodded, pressed closer. “I trust you. You have to know that. None of this—the wedding and related tribulations—none of this is about not trusting you. It’s about us repeating vows with certainty and knowledge of what we’re promising. Love through suffering.”