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"Then explain this." She motions to the framed abstract painting by the dining table. The one with bright reds and oranges.
It looks like a sunset. A new beginning. A supernova, maybe.
"Was that also a gift?" she asks.
"An investment in an up-and-coming artist." An ex-girlfriend suggested it. She worked at a gallery. She knew art. It sounded good: the lawyer and the gallerist, the guy with rules and the girl with beauty. That's the dynamic people expect, even now. A beautiful woman with a rich man.
Only now, the trophy wife has a post-graduate degree of her own.
That's what she said when she ended things.I'm not going to be your trophy wife. I want a life with someone, and you're not ready to be a partner.
But I didn't understand it.
I never saw her that way.
"What did it cost?" Daphne asks.
"Less than it's worth now." The ex was right. The artist took off. I tried to convince her to take the painting with her, but she didn't want it.
"How much?" she asks again.
"Two thousand dollars." A drop in the bucket in the art world, but a lot for a lot of people.
"And how many suits are in your closet?" she asks.
"What do you wear to work?" I ask.
"Scrubs," she says.
"How many pairs in your closet?" I ask.
"Too many to count," she says. "And all under a hundred dollars a pair. Whereas the suits…" She raises a brow. "I bet we can add a zero to that."
And multiply it by five. But this isn't a trial. There's no rule of evidence forcing me to dig myself a deeper hole. "Law is a formal field. I have to wear a suit."
"Uh-huh." Her eyes pass over me slowly, noting my linen shirt and slacks, my leather loafers, my hips, my waist, my shoulders.
I'm not imagining it.
She's checking me out.
But why? Daphne can have any guy she wants. And Cassie is everything to Daphne. She'd never even consider crossing that line.
Even though, well—
It's fair.
Since Cassie is now dating Daphne's brother.
But that's different. Damon is, well, he's the kind of guy people don't want dating their sister or their best friend.
I don't want to be that guy.
I won't be that guy.
Don't think about elephants.
I force my eyes to the counter. The French press. "Coffee?"
