Staring at the floor, Snow said, “I heard you.”
“You heard me what?” he asked.
Pushing the hurt away, she answered, “I heard your response to your father when he declared my mixed blood a taint to your family line.” She looked up in time to see Caleb’s blue eyes flare wide with surprise. “You said a divorce would allow me to take half of everything. You couldn’t jeopardize the McGraw money by divorcing the girl who tricked you into believing she was white.”
Though the last part had never passed his lips, Snow knew the thought must have crossed his mind. His flip response to his father proved it.
Caleb ran a hand through his thick hair, glancing to the ceiling as if praying for a plausible excuse.
“I don’t want your money, Caleb,” she said.
“I never said you did.” He blew out a breath and added, “I had no idea you heard that conversation, but you need to understand why I said what I did. And the way I said it.”
“Oh, I understand,” she said, turning her back to her husband. “And I feel the same way. As I said, this marriage was a mistake.”
“Snow, my father speaks one language, and that’s money. If I’d have made some romantic protest about our marriage, he would have laughed in my face and had lawyers on the phone by morning. The only way to change his mind was to make him believe that a divorce would cost him a substantial amount of money.” The chair rattled as Caleb rose and crossed to stand in front of her, looking Snow in the eye as he continued. “It was the first thing that popped into my head. I’m sorry that you’ve thought all this time that I really meant those words.”
She wanted to believe him. Staring into his face, she looked for anything that would give him away, that would prove he was manipulating her and only saying what she wanted to hear. But sincerity shone in those blue depths.
She’d been wrong, but there was no way Snow could have known that. Especially since she’d left instead of sticking around to confront him. But that one overheard conversation wasn’t the only problem with their marriage; it had simply been the breaking point for her. There were still the vast differences in their families and background. Their utter lack of compatibility. And her absolute certainty that she could never fit into Caleb’s world.
“We’re still too different, and that isn’t going to change in a new ZIP code.”
In his typical stubborn way, Caleb said, “We aren’t that different.”
“Yes, we are.” Too many times in their short relationship, Snow had given in to Caleb’s obstinate positivity. His refusal to hear anything he didn’t believe to be true had frustrated her to no end. If she had tried to tell him there were problems, long before that awful last night, he’d have argued that they were fine. End of conversation. Much of the time, talking to her husband felt like talking to a wall.
“We both like country music,” he offered, as if stating some arbitrary interest would prove his point.
“I don’t like football,” Snow rebutted.
Caleb hesitated. “You don’t like football? But you watched all those games with me.”
“I was trying to be supportive,” she answered.
Looking slightly off balance, Caleb said, “That’s fine. A lot of women don’t like sports.”
Snow lifted one brow. “I didn’t say I don’t like sports. I like to watch tennis. And ice skating.”
Her husband looked as if she’d set a carton of sour milk on the table. “I’m not sure ice skating qualifies as a sport.”
“It’s in the Olympics, Caleb.”
“True,” he conceded. “So we watch different sports. We agree on other things.”
The man would fight with a stump. “Like what?”
The twinkle returning to his eye, Caleb stepped closer. “There’s one area where we’re very compatible,” he said.
Snow held up a hand palm out. “Stop right there, McGraw. That’s what got us into this mess in the first place.”
“This is not a mess,” he said, pulling her hand against his chest until she could feel his heartbeat against her skin. “This is a marriage that has been on hiatus for far too long.”
As his face came down toward hers, Snow’s brain fought to retain control. If her body took over this argument, she’d find herself stripped to her striped socks and moaning on the desktop in a matter of minutes.
As desperation danced down her spine, inspiration struck.
“I’ll make you a deal,” she said, marching backward until she was out of his reach. “I’ll give you one month.”