to either side of her along the back of the couch. “Told her you couldn’t get it up anymore, and thanked her and Dad for saddling me with a husband who can no longer perform.”
My face burns but I don’t rise to the bait. She made her choices the same way I made mine. “What’d they say?”
From the way she studies me, I know this is one of her tests she frequently puts me through. “They said maybe I need to think about divorce, because Dad wants grandkids to carry on the family name, and I could find another guy and get IVF or something. They said they were sure the church would forgive me for a divorce under these circumstances.”
“What are they going to say when you don’t give them any grandkids even after we divorce?” Yes, I phrased that deliberately.
As if divorce is a foregone conclusion. I don’t want to lose any ground.
And, besides, they already have a shit-load of grandkids. At this point, I’d be shocked if they can honestly remember all their names or accurately count them without looking at an Excel spreadsheet first.
She shrugs and smiles. “Doesn’t matter, because as of next year, any money that would’ve gone to my children will go to me, according to the rules of the trust.”
Sonofabitch, I’d always suspected that was part of her motivation.
She tips her head to me. “And you can’t touch a damned penny of it, either. Not even if we stay married.”
“I don’t want your money. I’ll draw up the papers immediately.” I stand to go, thankful I’ve already prepared them.
“Whoa. Wait. What?”
I hesitate. “What?”
“You…you’re really okay with this?”
I shrugs. “Yeah. You’re miserable, I’m miserable. You’re a senator’s wife, and you’re a highly sought-after image consultant. You now have enough cachet of your own here in this town to keep opening your own doors. Not just in DC, but Georgia, too. We’ll pretend we’re still friends and I’ll even stump for you, if you ever want to run for office. The truth is, you don’t need me anymore. You’ll have money and prestige and a sympathy factor. I’ll take the blame. You can even say I’m a workaholic, too. No one needs ever be the wiser.”
I let the silence lay between us for a long moment, until she’s finally compelled to disturb it. “Is this what you wanted to talk to me about? That you decided on a divorce?”
No reason to lie. “It’s exactly why. I was also going to tell you I’m not running for a second term.”
“Goddammit!” she mutters as she sits forward, elbows on her knees.
“I thought this is what you wanted?”
“No! I wanted a normal fucking husband I can have sex with! You know I might technically still be a virgin?” Yes, she’s got a mouth on her for someone who claims to be so religious.
“Not with all the vibrators you’ve used over the years, you aren’t.”
Yeah, the evil glare she gives me doesn’t fill me with terror any longer.
It makes me want to laugh in her face.
I somehow resist that urge.
Instead, I turn and manage to hold my smile until my back is to her as I walk away. That’s all she’s getting from me.
My back.
Somehow, it’s difficult to remember I once felt sorry for her. I saw her as a fellow passenger in the lifeboat, cast adrift in our parents’ seas and at the mercy of their winds.
If she’d refused to ever get married, they simply would have told her she was on her own and cut her off from the trust. She admitted that to me once when she was tipsy.
In the beginning, I wasn’t exactly honest with her, but I didn’t lead her on to think we’d have a story-book marriage, either. She used me and our marriage as much as I used her as my beard. If not for me, she wouldn’t have a college degree and a career of her own. She’d be pregnant with her sixth or seventh child by now, most likely.
I gave her as much cover as she gave me. Her parents were never happy I “let” her work outside the home. They wanted me to keep her under my thumb.
Yeah, that definitely wouldn’t have worked.
There was, however, a method to my madness. I knew if she had a career of her own—her own income—because of our prenup, I wouldn’t need to pay her alimony. Oh, I’ll end up giving her the house in Georgia, but it’s paid off. I hate losing