Chapter Twelve
The first day back, I was packing my things in the city house. I loved living in my husband’s grand home despite the brevity of my marriage. Though it didn’t matter anymore, considering how I was thinking of the future and not the past. What had been beautiful and dear to me—like the flower vase of roses in the middle of my dressing table, and the small Matisse painting on the wall, and the finely carved European wardrobe where I kept my lingerie—was all dispensable. I loved beautiful things, but not the price I’d paid to have them. The more I thought about my husband, the more I saw the mistake clearly. He was all flash and show. He knew how to woo, to say things that would make a woman love him and I’d fallen for him easily. I remember having my doubts on my wedding day,
