I had grown up believing money could solve almost anything. My parents lived in a beautiful house in Ridgefield, drove cars most people only saw in magazines, belonged to an exclusive country club, and never seemed to check the price of anything. I knew there was a family trust waiting for me someday, and my father often reminded me that I would never have to worry about money as long as I followed the path he had chosen for me. Then there was Owen. He had none of those things. He drove an old car, worked with his hands, and brought me wildflowers because he couldn’t afford roses. But he was also the first person who ever made me feel like I was simply Genevieve, not William and Beatrice Carlisle’s daughter. So when my parents gave me a choice between their money and the man I loved, I chose Owen. I thought losing my family’s wealth would be the hardest thing I would ever face. I didn’t realize my new husband had been keeping a secret of his own.
PART 1 — THE THIRTY-EIGHT-DOLLAR HONEYMOON
The motel room cost thirty-eight dollars.
That was all we could justify spending on our wedding night.
