From shame.
He found me sitting on the bathroom floor.
“Claire?”
“I married you and you paid everything.”
“Yes.”
“Everyone was right.”
He lowered himself beside me despite the arthritis in his knees.
“About what?”
“I wanted the money.”
Richard shrugged.
“So?”
I stared at him.
He said, “I wanted your youth.”
“Richard.”
“And your company.”
“That’s not the same.”
“Why not?”
“Because one is disgusting.”
“According to whom?”
“Everyone.”
He took my hand.
“People reduce complicated relationships to simple sins because it saves them the trouble of understanding them.”
I looked away.
Richard squeezed my fingers.
“Did money make me more attractive to you?”
I whispered, “Yes.”
“Good.”
My head snapped toward him.
He smiled.
“I worked damn hard for it.”
Then his expression softened.
“But did you marry only the money?”
“No.”
“Do I love only that you’re thirty-two?”
“I hope not.”
“You snore.”
“I do not.”
