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“Sure,” I said. “I could really use a good laugh right about now.”
“Well, too bad,” she said. “Because it’s not funny. It’s actually kind of pathetic.”
“Lay it on me anyway.”
She continued picking at her fingernail. “At the bar last night, when I was talking to my mother about Tyler dumping me, she said there were only two kinds of men. Rich bastards and poor bastards. She said neither of them would ever give a shit about anything other than my appearance, so I may as well go for the rich bastard.”
I could barely believe my ears. “Those were the actual words she used? There are two kinds of men, rich bastards and poor bastards?”
“I was pretty drunk, but yeah, I believe those were the exact words.”
“Holy crap,” I said.
“What?”
“While you were at Paulie’s talking to your mother about men, I was at Geppetto’s talking to my father about women. You’re not going to believe this.”
CHAPTER 31
Clara
I tried to imagine what could possibly be more unbelievable than the events of my day thus far. There wasn’t anything.
“Try me,” I said.
“My dad and I get together the first Friday of every month,” he began. “That’s why we were at the bar last night. There was this hot redhead with obvious breasts implants and he was trying to convince me to talk to her. I told him I preferred a woman with a personality to a woman stuffed with silicon, and his response was that there were only two kinds of women. Pretty bitches and ugly bitches. He said both of them would be more interested in the divorce settlement than the marriage, so I should just go for the hotties.”
I was momentarily speechless. There are coincidences and then there are coincidences. And this coincidence was almost cosmic in scope. “Are you serious? That’s what he said?”
“That’s what he said. While you were in the bar listening to your mother tell you that all men are bastards who only want you for your looks, I was in a bar five doors down listening to my father tell me all women are bitches who only want me for my money.”
I felt oddly connected to Ian at that moment. It was the oldmisery loves companything. Ian and I were two peas in a pod. A giant, miserable, no-one-really-wants-to-eat-you-you-just-look-nice-on-a-plate pod. Ian was the male version of me. It felt good to be with someone who finally understood. “So it sounds like we both got the same bad advice,” I said.
He stared out the window at the long stretch of highway ahead. “I’m not so sure about that.”
“But you said it yourself.You’re not going to believe this. And you were right. What your father said to you and what my mother said to me are almost identical.”
“But the thing is, your mother was wrong,” he said. “That’s the difference. When you look back at your past boyfriends, you know they were the real deal. You know that there were men out there who genuinely loved you. When I look back at Greta and Isla and Megan, I know my father was right. All they ever wanted was money. The three of them combined took up eight years of my life, and not one of them loved me back. And it’s not just them. Even my girlfriends from high school. None of them—”
“Bullshit,” I said.
“Bullshit?” he repeated.
“Yes,” I said. “When I said I was stupid before, you said bullshit. And now I’m returning the favor and giving you my uncensored opinion of your theory that no woman’s ever loved you. Here it is. Bullshit.”
He looked almost offended that I was suggesting a woman out there might actually love him. “What makes you so sure?” he asked.
“Because it’s impossible,” I said. “It’s inconceivable that no one’s ever fallen genuinely in love with you.”
“You didn’t forget that thing I told you about my father being a billionaire, did you? Trust me, with the kind of money my family has, there are literally thousands of women who are ready and willing to not genuinely fall in love with me.”
“I didn’t forget about the money,” I said. “I’m just not talking about it right now. I’m talking about you. Plain old Ian Dunning, with or without the money.”
“There’s no Ian Dunning without the money,” he said. “Ask anyone. It’s my whole fucking identity.”
“It’s not your identity to me,” I said.
I knew I’d struck a chord—I could see it on his face.
