How I Convinced My Wealthy, Older Man That I Wasn’t After His Money: Part 3

How I Convinced My Wealthy, Older Man That I Wasn’t After His Money: Part 3On the ride to the air­port, the Stet­son man—my older, wealthy boyfriend—sat very close to me, hold­ing my hand and stroking my hair. The man was bro­ken­hearted, and it was dur­ing that car ride when I real­ized he was very seri­ous about me. He was even using the word love, and I knew him well enough to know that he did not use that word lightly, by any means. I asked him to give me some time and some space; I let him know that I needed to fig­ure out what I was feeling.

Also see: How I Con­vinced My Wealthy, Older Man That I Wasn’t After His Money: Part 1

When we arrived at the air­port, the Stet­son man retrieved my lug­gage from the trunk of the car, but instead of pass­ing it off to me, he hung onto it. He car­ried my bags into the air­port, and he stayed with me until it was time for me to go through secu­rity. When we could go no fur­ther together, he kissed me long and deeply, as if it would be the last time. When I opened my eyes, I could see the tears in his, and I felt ter­ri­ble. I found it dif­fi­cult to sort through what I was think­ing and feel­ing; I knew I needed to escape.

Also see: How I Con­vinced My Wealthy, Older Man That I Wasn’t After His Money: Part 2

I boarded the plane and ordered a drink as soon as the atten­dant came down the aisle with the cart. I was torn between the sad­ness of hav­ing left the Stet­son man in Canada, and the excite­ment I was feel­ing in know­ing that my hus­band was pick­ing me up from the air­port. My hus­band pick­ing me up? This was not a nor­mal occur­rence. He usu­ally had me plan ahead by tak­ing my own car to the air­port and leav­ing it in the park­ing garage, so that it would be there for me to drive myself home. I won­dered if he wanted to talk about something.

After land­ing and retriev­ing my lug­gage, I was excited when I spot­ted my hus­band in the wait­ing area. We shared the briefest of kisses, and then we got into the car for the long ride home. He chat­ted about every­thing that he had done while I was away, but he never talked about us, and he never even both­ered to ask about my trip. Although, that last part was prob­a­bly a good thing—there cer­tainly wasn’t much I could share. I was relieved when at last we pulled into the dri­ve­way. I was back at home, where things felt famil­iar. I crawled into bed and slept for the rest of the day.

I had arrived home from Canada before my best friend. Her plane was sched­uled to leave much later in the day, and so she and the Stet­son man had lunch together. He had called her when he got to the hotel, which was nor­mal because he often called her in the begin­ning of our rela­tion­ship to find out things about me and where he stood in our rela­tion­ship. This par­tic­u­lar lunch played to my advantage…

Click here to read Part 4.