Who in their right mind would divorce a handsome billionaire? And yet I am—divorcing him! I loved him mindlessly. BEFORE. Now there’s no memory and no love.
***
— What am I to owe for your visit? I ask, placing on the nearest table by the entrance a folder with divorce documents.
— What surprises you?
Igor looks up and runs his gaze over me from head to toe.
— I’m your husband.
— Really? Then how did another woman end up in our bed?
— Are you jealous?
He says it with condescension and a slight hint of contempt, so I flinch.
— It shouldn’t bother you. She’s gone. It takes incredible effort to keep my face calm—and even indifferent. I hold on with sheer willpower.
— Not at all. You can bring her back anytime.
— I’m not interested in that.
— Fine. Consider it—I'm interested.
Igor lets out a quiet huff, as if he’s holding back a laugh:
— Take off your clothes. What do they say about conjugal duty? I’ll fulfill it—not necessarily as duty, but at least as… charity.