She looked at him and then looked beyond him, as if she was peering through the kitchen doorway. “There are always people around,” she said, pulling back one finger, like she was counting off items. “Even when you’re in your own house. Everyone is always watching you.” She pulled back another finger. “No one ever tells you the truth. Only what they think you want to hear.” She smiled and directed her gaze at him again. “At my mother’s house, I could put on one red shoe and one black shoe and go about all day without anyone daring to point out my mistake.” She shook her head and reached for her teacup on the table at her elbow. When she spoke again, the playfulness seemed to have vanished from her voice. She wasn’t keeping count anymore. “Once you have enough money,” she said, “you can never really have any friends.”

Keegan thought about his own solitary life: lonely meals taken in diners and drugstores, long evenings in an empty apartment with coffee mugs and whiskey glasses piling up in the sink. He’d let any semblance of a social life fade away years ago, along with his prospects and any hope of a steady income. Living hand-to-mouth didn’t foster friendships, either.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Eve said. “‘Poor little rich girl hasn’t lived a minute in the real world.’ And I can’t really argue. It’s true. My life has been free of the problems most people face. But wealth does have its own set of challenges.”

Keegan wasn’t in the mood to argue, and he didn’t want to disrupt the easy, unhurried conversation he found himself in. He’d been drinking too much whiskey lately, just to hammer himself to sleep, but this wine—whatever its subtle chemistry—had given him a languorous, lazy buzz that felt comfortable and mellow, like a Sunday afternoon on a porch swing. “So, what’s the biggest drawback about being rich?” he asked.

“Romance,” Eve said plainly, as though she’d already given it a good deal of thought. “That’s the hardest thing of all, isn’t it? For everyone, I suppose. But when you’re rich, it’s impossible to know if someone loves you or just the things your money can bring him.” She held the teacup by its handle, giving it a gentle swirl. “Most men find a woman’s money bewitching or emasculating. It’s like there’s no in between.” She’d been looking down into her teacup, but she lifted her head and seemed to focus on him. “Not you, though, Jim Keegan,” she said. “It doesn’t seem to faze you at all.”

He wasn’t sure what to do with that observation, though it felt like a compliment.

“Money turns most men into boys,” she said. “So, there it is. Problem number one: money makes true love difficult. Poor me.”