showed me the write-up of our wedding. They called me a “daring sexpot” and Max my “white knight.” “Pretty cool, no?” he said. “We look like royalty. You look so beautiful in this picture. But of course you do. That’s who you are.” I smiled, but all I could think about was Rita Hayworth’s famous line. Men go to bed with Gilda, but wake up with me. “I think maybe I will lose a few pounds,” he said, patting his belly. “I want to be handsome for you.” “You are handsome,” I said. “You’ve always been handsome.” “No,” he said, shaking his head. “Look at this photo they have of me. I look like I have three chins.” “It’s just a bad picture. You look marvelous in person. I wouldn’t change a single thing about you, really.” But Max wasn’t listening. “I think I will stop eating fried foods. I have gotten too American, don’t you think? I want to be handsome for you.” But he didn’t mean handsome for me. He meant handsome for the pictures he’d be taking with me. My heart tore just a little as we boarded the plane. It split further and further as I watched him read the magazine during the flight. Just before we landed, a man flying in coach came up to first class to use the bathroom and did a double take when he saw me. When he was gone, Max turned to me, smiling, and said, “Do you think all these people are going to go home and tell everyone they were on a flight with Evelyn Hugo?” The moment he was done saying it, my heart had completely torn in half. kK kK * IT TOOK ME about four months to realize that Max had no intention of even trying to love me, that he was only capable of loving the idea of me. And then, after that, it seems so silly to say it, but I didn’t want to leave him, because I didn’t want to get divorced. I'd only married a man I loved once before. This was only the second time in my life I had gone into a marriage believing it could last. And after all, I hadn’t left Don. Don had left me.