CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR DUFFY

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

DUFFY

My husband was a billionaire.

Riggs Bates, who could fit his entire worldly possessions into his backpack, who walked around with holed socks and avoided subway fees, was rich beyond my wildest dreams.

He’d hidden it from me. And who could blame him, with the way I’d been behaving? I was so wrapped up in this idea of marrying up that he didn’t want me to .?.?. what? Try to make this thing real? Bamboozle him and run with the money? And why didn’t he make me sign a prenup? It wasn’t unheard of that I’d somehow find out about his financial situation.

The big irony was that I didn’t even care about the bloody money. I cared about him upping and leaving. I cared that he was healthy—I almost dropped to my knees and sobbed with relief when he told me that.

Last night, I really thought we’d patched things up. When Charlie passed away, it seemed like the universe was rearranging itself around us, making us realize what was important in life. Now I saw that for Riggs, stumbling into bed with me was nothing but a mishap.

After Riggs left, I called Laura for an urgent BFF conference. Or rather, an ex-BFF-turned-former-BFF-turned-back-to-BFF conference. She arrived with a huge H?agen-Dazs tub (bourbon praline pecan) and some wine. Before she even walked through my door, I pounced on her, crying hysterically. My reaction took me aback, because I’d been a lot more reserved and removed when BJ had announced he was buggering off for half a year.

“My goodness, Duffy, you’re showing actual human emotions.” Laura mock-checked my temperature, ushering me to my settee. “Do you have a fever? Shall we get you to the hospital?”

This, of course, only made me cry harder. I cried for two hours straight before I could find the words for what I was feeling.

“What if I can’t live without him?” I blew my nose into something that was once a tissue, I was certain of it. “He thinks I’m going to take his money. Call his accountant and .?.?. I don’t know, ask for an allowance or something.” I frowned at my bowl of ice cream. “Honestly, I wouldn’t even mind if we lived here, in this crappy flat, until the day we die. I just want him. Nothing else. No designer clothes, fancy handbags, and snail facials.” I sniffled. “Okay, maybe one snail facial, just to see what all the fuss is about. They say it’s life changing, you know.”

Laura patted my back, her face scrunched in pity. “Oh dear, you’re more hopeless than I thought.” She tucked her feet under her bum on the settee, and for a moment, I was filled with illogical rage that she was putting her scent and her cells and her everything over my precious Riggs couch. “Why don’t you call him and tell him how you feel? He was obviously hurt over the whole thing with BJ, which means he cares.”

“He cares,” I agreed, “and that’s exactly the problem.”

I replayed yesterday in my head. Remembered Riggs’s face as his father drew his last breath. When he realized he couldn’t help it—that he cared deeply for Charlie. I was there when Riggs gave Charlie the best day of his life—even if it was his last one too—so I knew exactly where my husband was coming from.

He wanted nothing and no one to hold him back. He didn’t want to be chained, didn’t want responsibilities, a family, a wife; I’d agreed to it in our terms and conditions. It wasn’t fair for him if I ripped our verbal contract apart.

“I don’t think anything I could say would change his mind.” My chin quivered as I shoved another spoonful of ice cream into my mouth.

“Then,” Laura said, reaching to rub at my arm, “I’m afraid you need to do what he did to you and let it go.”