“Gretchen, come on, nothing—”
“Stop!” She shouted so loudly that a couple of the guards looked in her direction. She lifted a hand in apology, which seemed to satisfy them. Then she turned back to Richard. “Even if nothing happened beyond what I know—those things are bad enough. And, by the way, I also know about the Crosby Street Hotel.”
“The Crosby Street Hotel?” He pretended to have no idea what she was talking about.
“Yes,yearsago? I found a receipt for a night you stayed there when you claimed you were in Chicago.” Her eyes had started to burn from glaring at him. “Tell me the truth, Richard. The whole truth, or I swear I’m done helping you.”
His mouth moved, but he stopped himself. Instead, he looked away, across the room toward another couple grinning delightedly at each other like they were on a first date. It was sweet. And sad—Gretchen felt sad for herself. She was not sure about facing the truth. What if it was even worse than you imagined?
“It was one night, Gretchen.” His voice was rough. “Not even. A few stupid, wasted hours that I regretted immediately. It didn’t mean anything to me, Gretchen. It wasn’t about her. I was just—” He fell silent, shrugged. Then he turned to her, eyes searching—for sympathy, understanding, a way out. “Overwhelmed, the job, the family. This life of ours.”
“Oh, so our life is the problem?”
Awkwardly, Richard ran the fingers of his handcuffed hands through his hair. “That’s not what I meant. Just the friends and the obligations and the Hamptons and the tennis club. I thought eventually I’d feel at home in it all.” He grimaced as if the wordswere physically painful. “I love you, Gretchen. So much. But I’ve never loved all of that.”
“And so you fucked other women?” He flinched—and boy, was it satisfying. “Because you don’t like theHamptons?”
His eyes stayed on his hands, now in his lap. “I don’t know, maybe my childhood…I probably needed a real therapist. Not a corporate coach.” He paused. “It was only that one time, all those years ago. And for the life of me now, I can’t explain why, but I thought it would make it easier to breathe. I don’t even remember her name.”
Gretchen didn’t realize she was crying until a tear dripped onto her skirt. She wiped at her eyes, pressed her hands to her hot cheeks. “That makes it so much better,” she whispered. She needed to finish now, to get him to tell her the rest of it. “And Frankie, Richard? The watch, the dinner, you were texting her. Isawthe messages.”
His eyes shot up to hers, but he seemed to think better of whatever ludicrous complaint he was about to make about an invasion of his privacy. “Nothing happened between us. Not like a hotel or anything like that. It was all make-believe. I got swept up in the…flirtation, the possibility, that’s all.”
“That’s all, huh?” Gretchen said quietly. “That and a hundred-and-sixty-seven-thousand-dollar watch.” She was no longer crying. Her face felt like a dried husk.
“She just—being around her made me feel alive, and young. Like there was still time for me to be whoever I wanted to be…”
“An artist?” Gretchen didn’t try to hide the disdain she felt.
Richard looked wounded now, and a little embarrassed. “Something like that, I guess.” He paused. “But I never gave her the watch! I realized it was stupid and impulsive. I didn’twantto give it to her. I should have just returned it, but then I thought if anyone deserved a gift—it was you. I love you, Gretchen. I’ve loved you since the second we met.”
Richard looked stricken. He could see the damage he had done. Actually, he looked afraid—not sad or remorseful or heartbroken or guilty. He looked terrified.
“You’re worried that I won’t help you with your case, aren’t you?”
He made a face, then exhaled sharply. “Maybe I deserve that.”
“You do,” Gretchen said calmly. “The fact that Frankie was beautiful probably didn’t hurt, either.”
“No one will ever be as beautiful to me as you. No one.”
“Oh, shut up, Richard,” she snapped. “This is insulting to my intelligence. And nauseating, frankly. You know, when I went to that restaurant where you had dinner, they said you were obsessed with her.”
“Obsessed? That’s not true,” he said. “It’s not.”
“But her friend, that restaurant woman, will eventually tell the police that, you know.”
“Shewasbeing stalked, but it was some ex-boyfriend. He even took photos—”
“Good God, stop talking.”
“Anyway, he’s definitely the one who did this.” He paused. “Unless, I mean…”
“Don’t say another word, Richard,” she said, glancing around the room full of people.
“I don’t know,” he said, eyeing her pointedly. “People do all sorts of things, for all kinds of reasons, especially when they’re upset. Everyone has a breaking point, Gretchen.”
“What are you suggesting?”
