Wisp.”
“Come again?”
“She’s an international celebrity model with her own line of perfume.”
This time, a raised eyebrow accompanied Bob’s stare.
William was tempted to mention that Willow graced the back cover of this month’s Vanity Fair, but knowing that would mean nothing to Bob, he stayed silent.
Finally, Bob asked, “Does she have money of her own?”
“Yes. She’s done quite well for herself. Her attorney is my partner, James Finch. You remember James, don’t you, Bob? He tells me she’s worth about twelve million.”
“I imagine that’s a lot of money in modeling these days,” Bob said, as the curious expression remained on his face. “So, what do you want to offer her?”
“I’m thinking two hundred and fifty million dollars.”
The scribbling pencil in Ivan’s hand went still. “Hell, I’ll marry you for that kind of money!”
“I don’t want to burst your bubble, but she’s a lot cuter than you.”
Bob shrugged. “It’s okay, I can handle the truth.”
“Seriously, what do you think I should do?”
Bob scratched his chin. “I don’t have to tell you that you have a rather unique situation. With your extraordinary wealth, the main issue we have to resolve is the gap that we’re going to place on what share of your fortune would come to her, should your marriage terminate by separation or divorce, as opposed to death.”
“What do you think that should look like?”
“I would suggest an annual figure that increases for each year of your marriage. For example, it could be twenty-five million a year, every year for the next ten years. This would bring the total to the amount you suggested.”
William nodded, “That seems like a solid approach.”
“Of course, you need to consider what percentage of your estate will transfer to her upon your death. Naturally, all those provisions would be voided by a separation, and or divorce, prior to your death.”
“Makes sense. Bob, I know you know all the I’s to dot and T’s to cross. Can you have a draft to me by this coming Monday? I want to discuss this with her sooner than later.”
“No problem, William. I’m happy for you that you’ve found someone so special to you.”
“She is—but no woman will ever take Fran’s place.”
“I know that, William. Still, you’re a relatively young man. Hell of a lot younger than me. It’s important that you have someone to share your life. Have you set a date for the wedding?”
“Yes! Mark your calendar for September tenth.”
“That’s less than two months away. I better get moving on this! I’ll send a draft over to you in forty-eight hours.”
Six days after William and Bob met, Willow and William had dinner together. That prior week, she’d been on a whirlwind tour of department stores in Washington, DC, Philadelphia, New York, Boston, and Chicago. Perfume sales were steadily beating expectations as the tabloid coverage of, “The Millionaire Model and The Billionaire Boyfriend,” heated up.
While magazines like People and Us were expanding coverage of the biggest “fall/spring romance of the decade,” the supermarket tabloids had already decided that William and Willow were front-page coverage worthy.
It embarrassed William, who had enjoyed a relatively private life up until now. But it pleased Willow, who knew the old adage that all publicity was good publicity.
After a meal of pasta with veal, sausage, and porcini ragu, Willow and William took their wine glasses into what had become their favorite spot in his spacious home, the den, where they’d had their first real conversation after escaping the noise of the Black & White Ball.
As Willow ran her finger suggestively around the rim of her wine glass, she said, “I want to bring up a sensitive subject, but something I think we need to discuss.”
“Of course, sweetheart! What is it that’s on your mind?”
“Well, as I said, it’s a really sensitive subject…” She
“Come again?”
“She’s an international celebrity model with her own line of perfume.”
This time, a raised eyebrow accompanied Bob’s stare.
William was tempted to mention that Willow graced the back cover of this month’s Vanity Fair, but knowing that would mean nothing to Bob, he stayed silent.
Finally, Bob asked, “Does she have money of her own?”
“Yes. She’s done quite well for herself. Her attorney is my partner, James Finch. You remember James, don’t you, Bob? He tells me she’s worth about twelve million.”
“I imagine that’s a lot of money in modeling these days,” Bob said, as the curious expression remained on his face. “So, what do you want to offer her?”
“I’m thinking two hundred and fifty million dollars.”
The scribbling pencil in Ivan’s hand went still. “Hell, I’ll marry you for that kind of money!”
“I don’t want to burst your bubble, but she’s a lot cuter than you.”
Bob shrugged. “It’s okay, I can handle the truth.”
“Seriously, what do you think I should do?”
Bob scratched his chin. “I don’t have to tell you that you have a rather unique situation. With your extraordinary wealth, the main issue we have to resolve is the gap that we’re going to place on what share of your fortune would come to her, should your marriage terminate by separation or divorce, as opposed to death.”
“What do you think that should look like?”
“I would suggest an annual figure that increases for each year of your marriage. For example, it could be twenty-five million a year, every year for the next ten years. This would bring the total to the amount you suggested.”
William nodded, “That seems like a solid approach.”
“Of course, you need to consider what percentage of your estate will transfer to her upon your death. Naturally, all those provisions would be voided by a separation, and or divorce, prior to your death.”
“Makes sense. Bob, I know you know all the I’s to dot and T’s to cross. Can you have a draft to me by this coming Monday? I want to discuss this with her sooner than later.”
“No problem, William. I’m happy for you that you’ve found someone so special to you.”
“She is—but no woman will ever take Fran’s place.”
“I know that, William. Still, you’re a relatively young man. Hell of a lot younger than me. It’s important that you have someone to share your life. Have you set a date for the wedding?”
“Yes! Mark your calendar for September tenth.”
“That’s less than two months away. I better get moving on this! I’ll send a draft over to you in forty-eight hours.”
Six days after William and Bob met, Willow and William had dinner together. That prior week, she’d been on a whirlwind tour of department stores in Washington, DC, Philadelphia, New York, Boston, and Chicago. Perfume sales were steadily beating expectations as the tabloid coverage of, “The Millionaire Model and The Billionaire Boyfriend,” heated up.
While magazines like People and Us were expanding coverage of the biggest “fall/spring romance of the decade,” the supermarket tabloids had already decided that William and Willow were front-page coverage worthy.
It embarrassed William, who had enjoyed a relatively private life up until now. But it pleased Willow, who knew the old adage that all publicity was good publicity.
After a meal of pasta with veal, sausage, and porcini ragu, Willow and William took their wine glasses into what had become their favorite spot in his spacious home, the den, where they’d had their first real conversation after escaping the noise of the Black & White Ball.
As Willow ran her finger suggestively around the rim of her wine glass, she said, “I want to bring up a sensitive subject, but something I think we need to discuss.”
“Of course, sweetheart! What is it that’s on your mind?”
“Well, as I said, it’s a really sensitive subject…” She
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