“Why didn’t you tell me?” It’s clear from Elsie’s controlled tone that she’s furious. “He would have listened to me. I could have made him go.”
Paris meets her gaze. “That’s why he told me not to tell you. He was my husband, Elsie. What was I supposed to do?”
“You were supposed to watch out for him, is what,” Elsie snaps. “That’s the deal you make when you marry a man three decades older than you. You’re supposed to give a shit that he’s getting sick, and you’re supposed to notice that he’s using drugs again. For fuck’s sake, Paris. How self-absorbed are you that you missed these things?”
Paris’s face is hot. There’s nothing she can say to this, because Elsie is right. She has been completely focused on herself the past few months, trying to figure out how to keep her own life from imploding. She wasn’t paying attention to Jimmy’s health. In fairness, neither was Zoe, but Zoe wasn’t his wife.
“Your arraignment is tomorrow at ten,” Elsie says. “That’s when the prosecution has to show the judge they have probable cause to charge you. I’ll give you a heads-up now—you will probably be charged. But so far everything they have is circumstantial, so it doesn’t necessarily mean we’re going to trial. And trust me, with all the publicity, they can’t afford to get it wrong.”
“How bad is it? The publicity?”
“Considering you’re all over the news, I’d say it’s pretty bad. One of the junior associates texted me a picture from Instagram. It’s a side-by-side of you and one of the Kardashians wearing the same furry slippers. You look guilty and rich, and that’s a bad combination.”
“It’s not fur, it’s feathers,” Paris says, pointlessly.
“Eat your sandwich,” Elsie says. “I’ll be back in the morning. Remember, no talking. Especially not to Dumb and Dumber over there. Try to get some rest.”
Paris isn’t hungry, and she can’t imagine how she’ll fall asleep in here. Her cellmates are once again trading stories about their mutual ex-boyfriend, Dexter, who apparently smoked too much weed, cheated on them both, stole one woman’s money, and crashed the other woman’s car. What a prize.
She’d never had to worry about any of those things with Jimmy. He wasn’t a taker; he gave. The day after they agreed to get married, they had a brutally honest conversation about money. Jimmy didn’t want any surprises. He told Paris exactly how much she’d get if their marriage ended.
“Whatever happens, whether it’s death or divorce, you’ll get a million dollars flat,” Jimmy said. “I’m not as rich as people seem to think, and I want you to know what you’re walking into. A lot of my money went to bad investments, a shady manager, up my nose, and in my arms.”
A million sounded like a lot to Paris. It would pay off her condo and her car and provide a nest egg for retirement. She’d still have to work, and that was fine. It just seemed weird to be in a relationship where a prenup was even necessary. Because he’s nosy, Henry had Zillow’d Jimmy’s house as soon as Paris began dating him. The “Zestimate” was around seven million because of the location and the views. She understood why Jimmy would want to protect himself.
“I’ve been burned before,” Jimmy said. “Four wives. Three rehabs. The bankruptcy in the eighties. Shit, we don’t need to rehash, you know all this. Elsie put the prenup together after wife number two. So it’s kind of, you know, boilerplate. But it protected my dumb ass when the last two marriages went south.”
“We don’t have to get married, you know,” Paris said. “I’m fine on my own. I’ve been taking care of myself my whole life.”
“I know you have.” He touched her face. “But I figure I got twenty years left, and if I’m lucky, at least ten of them will be good. I want to spend them with you. What can I say? I like being married.”
She kissed his hand.
Jimmy leaned forward, his blue eyes piercing hers. “But I want you with me, kid. Me. Not the Prince of Poughkeepsie—”
“Never seen it.”
“Or the Vegas guy—”
“Never been.”
“Or the winner of thirteen Emmys, a Golden Globe, an Oscar nom—”
“Awards are overrated.”
He finally laughed. “I get it. You really don’t give a shit. And that’s what I dig about you.”