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It was the first time that a boy found my sense of ambition — instead of my long hair or narrow waist — attractive.

Her name is Talulah Riley, and she played one of the sisters in 2005's is a really good movie, and b) My life with this man had devolved to a cliché. I said yes, but then blew him off with a note on my dorm-room door.

A fellow student a year ahead of me, he was a clean-cut, upper-class boy with a South African accent who appeared in front of me one afternoon as I was leaping up the steps to my dorm.

It was this board that was supposedly urging him to get a "financial agreement." What I didn't understand at the time was that Elon was actually ushering me into a period of "mediation," which, I now know, means anything done or spoken is confidential and cannot be used in a court of law. He had grown up in the male-dominated culture of South Africa, and the will to compete and dominate that made him so successful in business did not magically shut off when he came home.

But I had no time to research mediation, or learn that it rarely serves the interest of the less powerful person in the relationship. But two months after our wedding, I simply signed the postnuptial agreement. This, and the vast economic imbalance between us, meant that in the months following our wedding, a certain dynamic began to take hold.

"I just assume that there will be nannies." He made a rocking motion with his arms and said, happily, "Baby." Then he took me to a bookstore and handed me his credit card. When I looked at him, he said quickly, "It's not a prenup."Although I'd been dating a struggling 20-something entrepreneur, I was now engaged to a wealthy one.

Elon had sold Zip2, which partnered with newspapers to help them get online, in 1999, the year before, and was worth about million overnight.

Our day-to-day routine remained the same (except for the addition of flying lessons), and Elon's wealth seemed abstract and unreal, a string of zeros that existed in some strange space of its own.

I made uneasy jokes that he was about to dump me for a supermodel.

Even so, Nevada's death sent me on a years-long inward spiral of depression and distraction that would be continuing today if one of our nannies hadn't noticed me struggling.

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