When Love Runs Dry

"Every Thanksgiving, my husband, Salvatore, brings home a showgirl from one of his clubs.He makes me kneel and serve them drinks. A lesson, he calls it, in how to please a man.This was the eighth Thanksgiving, and this time, he brought back a girl poured into a tight leather dress."She doesn't have any decent jewelry," Salvatore announced. "Give her your heirloom diamond ring. Your grandmother's pearl earrings, too. And take off that silk choker for her."He smirked. "And listen, she's young, doesn't know the rules. You'll have to show her the ropes. Especially how to handle a man in bed."Every member of the Genovese family was watching, waiting for my humiliation. I didn't disappoint. I opened my mouth and asked Salvatore for a divorce.Salvatore let out a sharp, ugly laugh, his eyes full of contempt."Francesca, you pull this same shit every time," he jeered. "Your act is pathetic. Even more dramatic than your performance in bed."He leaned in. "You really want to divorce me? Fine. I'll give you five million in cash if you actually walk out that door."The living room erupted in laughter. They all said I was playing hard to get, that I didn't know my place.But they didn't know. This was the 88th time I had asked for a divorce, and it was the first time I truly meant it."