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“Defending me?” I said. “Against what?”
“Yourself. The same way I do when my mother tells me all any man will ever love her for is her appearance.”
“You call your mother a monumental dick? To her face?”
“We have a non-traditional relationship,” she said. “My point is, you’re a dick for selling yourself short. For assuming that all any woman could ever love you for is your money.”
“Why do you assume it’s an assumption?”
“Because gold diggers look for men who are just as shallow as they are. My mother’s dated a lot of rich men, and you’re nothing like them. They’re shallow. They’re selfish. They’re egotistical. You’re not any of those. You’re down-to-earth. You’re smart and funny, and the more time I spend with you, the more I like you. All I’m saying is, I can definitely see where a woman would take it a step further and fall in love with you. So you’re a dick for shortchanging yourself and refusing to accept the fact thatmaybe, just maybe, a woman could see you as more than a pot of gold. You’re a good guy and a nice person. So stop fighting it and start accepting it, Ian. You’re worth loving.”
CHAPTER 17
Clara
He wasn’t looking at me. He was staring straight ahead, his expression tense. Whatever it was I’d said that upset him, I regretted saying it.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to ramble. Forget everything I just said.”
“It’s okay,” he said.
But clearly it wasn’t okay. I’d meant it when I told him that the more time I spent with him, the more I liked him. We’d been getting along. We’d been talking and joking and laughing and enjoying each other’s company. And then I had to go and open my big mouth. What the hell did I know, anyway? Maybe this Greta character really was a gold digger, one who was new to the club and didn’t realize that, in order for the trophy marriage to work, she needed to find an actual trophy hunter. You can’t make just any man not love you for who you are. You have to find a man whowantsto not love you, who gives as little a shit about you as you give about him. And only when you’ve found a man as shallow and selfish as you are will you at last feel the true joy of being bound for eternity—eternity here being defined as an average of thirty-eight months—to someone who deserves not even an ounce of your respect. Only then will you experience the true magic of not being remotely in love with the inflation-adjusted annuity you fuck every Tuesday and Friday.
I had misjudged Ian. No one had ever shown an ounce of compassion when I talked about how my mother had been used by men. Until Ian. He understood. He sympathized. Looking at him now, I could see that he wore his heart on his sleeve. You could see the vulnerability from a mile away. Mining him for gold would be like hunting for cows in a barn. He was what the more heartless women in my mother’s line of work called “ripe for the picking.” So yeah, maybe Greta really was a gold digger.
I should have known better than to pass judgment. After all, hadn’t I just been dumped by a man whose love for me was contingent upon me keeping my girlish figure? Who was I to say that Greta’s love for Ian wasn’t contingent upon him bringing in a fat paycheck? Simply stated, I suspected that Ian was to Greta what I was to Tyler. A target. A fool. Tyler was a trophy hunter, but I wasn’t a trophy. Greta was a gold digger, but Ian wasn’t a mine.
Which meant Ian and I were two birds of a feather. A limp, broken feather. We’d both been played. We’d both been made fools of. We’d both had our hearts broken.
“Ian?” I said.
“Hm?” he responded.
“What you said about Greta being a gold digger?”
“Yeah?”
“I believe you.”
CHAPTER 18
Ian
She was apologizing.
Maybe.
Or maybe not. All I knew for sure was that she thought I was mad or hurt or insulted. I wasn’t. I was just flustered. And evidently doing a very bad job of hiding it.
I looked out the passenger-side window to hide whatever pathetic look I had on my face. I’d been told by many, many people that I wore my heart on my sleeve. And at this particular moment, my heart was more than on my sleeve. It was in my stomach. It was in my throat. It was in my freaking eyeballs. Seriously. My left eyelid had a pulse.
“If you’re apologizing, there’s no need,” I said. “I wasn’t offended.”
“Still,” she said, “I shouldn’t have contradicted you when you said Greta was only after your money. I wasn’t there. I didn’t know her. It was just hard for me to imagine someone only wanting you for your money when you obviously have so much more to offer. I mean, even if Greta started out as a gold digger, I feel like she would have fallen in love with you by accident. Like she wouldn’t have been able to help herself.”
My heart was now pounding in parts of my body I didn’t even know had veins. My left ass cheek. My earlobes. I had to get it under control. There was only so long I could pretend to be fascinated with the green Buick in the next lane.
“Do you believe me when I say that I believe you?” she asked, unwilling to let it go.
