I leaned across the seat and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Then I couldn’t help but bite his earlobe.

Somehow I couldn’t resist asking, “What’s your ex-wife’s name?”

“Teal. I swear to God my ex-wife is named Teal.”

That made us both laugh.

Marty said, “She told me she’d always supported me emotionally when I was working. She said I only wanted her happy, in shape, and at home. Then, at the last court proceeding, she said, ‘Now I am happy, in shape, and at home, and you gotta pay for it awhile longer.’”

Marty took a moment to gather himself. “You know what else she told me?”

“No, what?”

“She told me I should meet someone, I’d feel better.” He took his eyes off the road to look at me. “You know what?”

“What?”

“She was right.” He had to pull the car to the narrow shoulder of the road in Highland Beach just to kiss me the way he wanted to.

Chapter 6

Once we were past the Lake Worth beach and still heading north on A1A, I told Marty to slow down just a little. I pointed out all the local landmarks I knew so well: the tennis courts at Phipps Park; the condos on Sloan’s Curve; and the big houses that sat just off the road, whose residents I named for Marty.

When we were north of the Bath and Tennis Club and clear of Donald Trump’s Mar-a-Lago, I had Marty park in one of the spots next to a tiny beach bungalow, more like a cabana, on the beach side of South Ocean. I knew there was no one inside. It was only used occasionally, and even then, just as a way to shower off after swimming in the ocean. I pointed across the street to a mansion that looked like it was surrounded by a golf course.

“See that castle over there? Twenty thousand, two hundred twenty-seven square feet. I’ve measured it. To the inch. That used to be my house. That’s where I lived and planned to stay the rest of my life. I loved that place. And my dick of a husband took it away.”

“I’ve heard about your husband. Everyone on the island knows Brennan Moore.”

“Don’t get me started on that guy.” Then, without meaning to, I launched into my own imitation. I tried to put on that irritating, fake accent, as if he had gone to Yale. “This just isn’t working out, Christy, dear. I think it’s best we go our separate ways.” Then I returned to my own voice, trying to keep the bitterness out of it without much success. “That was it. No emotion, no anger. Just his assessment of what was going on and how he intended to correct it. Of course he was bold, because he knew he had a prenup and could lock me out of most of his assets. Not to mention, he had the best attorneys, who I’m sure were ready for this for some time before he said anything to me.”