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moderately sized Victorian house in the suburbs doesn’t make the top of my list. Because what they fail to show you in the catalog of life is that behind those walls, the couple will eventually fall out of love and become strangers. The mom will grow tired of taking care of her kids and of her mundane life, growing anxious as she wonders if looking at a pile of folded clothes is all the excitement left in her life. The father will grow bored of fucking the same woman over and over again. Maybe he’ll grow frustrated and dissatisfied with his life and turn to alcohol instead of another woman. Or maybe he'll grow resentful of what he has to give up in order to provide for his family. And what about those two point five kids who look so happy in the glossy pages of said catalog? Behind those pretty smiles are hidden tears of neglect, laughless hearts, and days upon days of loneliness.
    And that is not my dream.
    So am I calculating? Yes, completely. I’m a gold digger, but I’m also smart. Love fades … or it’s selfish … or unkind … but a diamond? A diamond will last forever.
    And because I’m a cynical bitch, I’m very aware that I need to capitalize on my looks while I still have them because those will fade as well.
    “I guess I still don’t trust him fully,” I hear Elly say. “I wish you could just settle with a nice guy who loves you for who you are and not what you look like.”
    I laugh as I stare out the window, watching the cab picking up speed, people and street lights blending together. “If they knew the real me, they would run for the hills, Elly. Come on, let’s be honest here.”
    After a moment of silence, she replies, “Not if they knew the real you. The one you try so hard to hide. May I remind you what you did for me?”
    “Blah, stop it. But seriously, I can’t believe you’re still iffy about Walker. We’re good together. Anyway, tell me, how was your vacation?” Elly was away for two weeks visiting family in California.
    She huffs. “Don’t go changing the subject on me, Blaire. And I don’t know … there’s just something about Walker that throws me off.”
    “I think you’re thinking too much into it. We’re just having fun.”
    And we are.
    I was the pretty hostess of Homme, an upscale restaurant in Midtown that Walker and his friends used to frequent around lunch hour when we met. At first, he only saw me as a nice piece of ass to spend a couple of hours with whenever he felt like it (and maybe he still does—who knows). I saw the expensive suit, the even more expensive watch, and when I heard his last name, my panties almost fell down to the ground. He was like the long lost City of Atlantis for girls like me.
    The click and clack of utensils and the buzz of chatter filled my ears as I stood in my booth by the front of the restaurant, I preened like a peacock for Walker.
    First stolen glance.
    I felt my skin tingle.
    Second stolen glance.
    I felt my skin grow hot.
    Third stolen glance.
    I was burning.
    Our eyes continued to connect over and over again—we couldn’t stop.
    By the time his bill was paid, I’d thought he was going to stop by the front and ask me for my number like so many other men before him had. But he hadn’t. As a matter of fact, as he crossed the small space between the metal booth where I was standing and the large glass doors, he didn’t even glance my way. I watched his perfectly combed blond hair shine like burnt gold in the sun as he stepped into the street. When I heard the roar of his laughter at something his friend must have said, I felt it vibrate in my bones.
    And then he was gone.
    I wish I could say that I didn’t care and that the moment he walked out the door he walked out of my mind. But it would be a lie. He remained in my thoughts for the rest of the day. When my shift was over, I kissed my coworkers on the cheek goodbye, grabbed my coat and headed out the door.
    I felt my heart stop beating as soon as I saw