“You’re reading that, huh?” Mia copied Matt’s breezy tone, but it was obvious that she wasn’t falling for his diversion. “I’ll tell Mom. She’s convinced people only read the paper for political gossip these days.” Her eyes darted back and forth between Rachel’s dirty dress and Matt’s sweaty face. “Rachel, is there some reason you’re…” She waved at the ground. “In the bushes?”
Matt looked nauseated and defeated. Good. Now he knew how it felt. Rachel took another slow sip of her drink and let him stew. He told Mia they were debating landscaping and had come outside to see it up close. “I’m not sure we want these roses anymore.”
They were her roses, not his. Just like the house. She’d chosen every tile and light fixture. She had agonized over window treatments and light switch plates while he brushed her off if she asked for an opinion. He’d paid for land and walls, but she was the one who made it a home. That meant something. And she couldn’t let him steal it away.
Rachel stumbled upward. “Matt and I need to finish our conversation about chrysanthemums.”
“Roses,” Mia corrected.
“Whatever.”
Mia surveyed the street. “You should probably go inside. It’s late and you have some nosy neighbors.” She started to say more, but then pursed her lips and nodded. “Have a good night.”
Once she was gone, Matt extended a hand but Rachel stepped back. “No. I’m not going in there with you. Not unless—” She looked up at the house, her house, and Nathan’s question ran through her mind: What do you want now?
She wanted certainty. Security. The safe place that Matt had promised her. A dollar amount flashed in her mind, and she blurted it before she lost her nerve. “One million.”
Matt tensed. They rarely spoke about money in specific amounts. Big expenses were estimated in “figures” and paid through invoices forwarded to their accountant. He floundered and sputtered, “Wh-what?” before dismissing his own question with a hand wave. “It’s late. Let’s talk tomorrow.”
“I want one million dollars,” Rachel repeated. “And the house. I won’t say anything about your affair or file for divorce until the election’s over. But I won’t let you leave me with nothing.” She would plant more roses. Once he was gone, she’d cover the yard in enough pink flowers that he’d avoid driving past because they’d remind him of this moment.
Matt looked stunned, his body frozen while his satin robe flapped furiously in the breeze. “Are you blackmailing me?”
“You’re a lawyer, Matt. Consider it a negotiation.”
“And I thought this was a marriage.”
Her first instinct was violence, a kick to the groin or a solid hair pull like girls used to do on the playground. He’d probably call Mia to mediate. Or worse, Shania. She could hear him whining to their therapist: “That’s why she took off her earrings.”
“I know you don’t love me anymore,” Rachel said, voicing the truth they’d both been avoiding. Matt bristled like a guilty porcupine, ready to argue semantics. But she wasn’t strong enough for some debate. Her legs felt wobbly and bloodless, as if her heart were feeding them nothing but adrenaline. “But could you respect me enough to give me what I’m owed?”
His contrite expression quickly cooled into resentment. There wasn’t a trace of confusion when he spoke again. Just the bored, rushed tone of someone about to play a winning hand. “Owed is a strong word.”
“What would you call it?”
“Consideration.” He folded his arms. “It’s a contract term. A benefit in a bargained-for exchange.”
“Okay. I’ll say nothing in exchange for—”
“Bargained for,” he interrupted. “Not demanded.”
This was the most honest conversation they’d had in months. Maybe years. She was drunk and he was eyeing her like a rabid dog he’d backed into a corner. But she wasn’t invisible anymore. She had materialized, fully formed, right in front of him. “What could you possibly want from me?”
“You’re a part of my campaign, Rachel. I need you at my side, like before. I need you to…” He faltered, searching for words. “Do what you normally do. In public. The parties and such.”
Rachel had always suspected that Matt didn’t know what she did all day. He would ask her to do something at the last minute and get irritated if she said she was busy. She usually agreed to change her schedule, because deep down, she didn’t respect it either. Committee meetings, book clubs, and facials. Her calendar might as well be printed on glittery vellum.