agreement.”
Adrian set down his glass.
“I’ve already made arrangements.”
“Then change them.”
“My parents aren’t asking permission to live with their son.”
“They’re asking to live in property I own.”
His expression hardened.
“There it is again.
Your house.
Your money.
Your success.
You act like I haven’t been standing beside you all these years.”
“You have been standing beside me, Adrian.
That doesn’t mean you own everything beside me.”
He stared at me with an expression I hadn’t seen before.
Not anger exactly.
Calculation.
“We’re married,” he said.
“What’s yours belongs to me too.”
It might have frightened me more if I hadn’t been holding a piece of information he didn’t know I possessed.
Three hours earlier, I had received an email from the title company.
Someone had requested confirmation of a proposed occupancy agreement for my property.
Attached was a document describing permanent residential rights for three people named Celia, Hugh, and Paige Whitaker.
At the bottom appeared an electronic signature bearing my name.
I had never signed that agreement.
I had initially assumed it was a mistake, perhaps an incorrectly routed file or an unauthorized draft submitted by someone who misunderstood the property’s ownership.
Now I knew why it existed.
And I suspected the document was only part of what Adrian had arranged.
I looked across the kitchen at the man I’d married.
“When are they arriving?”
His shoulders loosened.
“Tomorrow afternoon.
Santa Barbara Airport.”
“Then go pick them up.”
His surprise turned into satisfaction.
“See? That wasn’t so difficult.”
He came around the counter and kissed my forehead.
“You’re much prettier when you don’t fight me.”
I remained still until he walked upstairs.
Then I picked up my phone.
The first person I called was Priya Shah, the attorney who had negotiated my prenuptial agreement and reviewed the estate purchase.
Priya listened without interrupting while I described the proposed occupancy document and Adrian’s announcement.
“First,” she said, “don’t sign anything.
Second, forward me every document you have.
Third, we need to distinguish ownership from occupancy.
Being your spouse does not automatically make him an owner of your separate property, but we also can’t treat his residence here as though it gives him no legal rights.”
“Can I stop his family from moving in?”
“You can decline to authorize new occupants.
But don’t attempt an unlawful lockout of Adrian.
If this escalates, we handle his occupancy through an agreement or a court order.”
I appreciated that she was thinking about the law rather than simply telling me what I wanted to hear.
I sent her the documents.
Then I called Mateo Alvarez, the estate’s security manager.
Adrian had requested additional remote fobs during our move, claiming they were for service contractors.
I had approved temporary guest access because there were still deliveries and installation appointments scheduled.
Now I wanted to know where those remotes had gone.
Mateo checked the access records.
“Mrs.
Calder,” he said, “there have been several attempts to register new permanent users.
The names don’t match our contractor list.”
“Deactivate the temporary guest credentials and issue a new contractor schedule,” I instructed.
“Adrian must still be admitted personally.
No one is to deny him access to the residence.
But nobody else is moving in without my authorization.”
“Understood.”
I called the title company
