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She poured herself two fingers of bourbon—not because she needed it, but because the glass felt good in her hand—and sat in the middle of that giant sofa, her blonde hair catching the low light.

Not literally. But when Gerald had complained that her new wardrobe—linen caftans, wide-legged trousers, jewelry that clanked when she walked—made her look “like a wealthy widow,” she had looked at him over her reading glasses and said, “That sounds like a you problem.” big ass mature blonde

She did none of that.

That was the same week she fired her second husband. She poured herself two fingers of bourbon—not because