He’d provide a good living to whichever woman he’d marry. With his and Laura’s income, they’d be solid members of the top 1% of the upper eche...on of rich, white Americans. While I’d still be languishing writing my never ending book, should they marry, they’d be living the good life, high on the hog. ‘God help me. I hated being so jealous,’ I thought while unable to help myself from being so possessive. ‘Why am I doing this to myself by imagining things?’ As if they were the bachelor and. "Oh you have," she said, "I've been plotting this for a week. You're kind of predictable, you know."I chuckled. "Some women find that attractive," I said. She mmm'ed' in agreement and looked out her window. At length, she took a sketchpad out of her bag (yes, it was a bag, not a purse, and seemed to contain a great many things). She quietly began quick-sketching things we passed; an advertising sign, a motorbike, even a mailbox. "I detect an accent from the commonwealth somewhere," I. More

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