James
Michael strolls in, hands in pockets, looking around; checking out the bedrooms and the hot tub, grunting his approval at the open fire. “Nice place," he comments. “I see that you've spared no expense again."
“What else am I going to spend my money on? Running my non-existent home and funding my ex-wife's live-in lover?"
His face falls....
.... and I feel like a complete shit....
“Sorry, that wasn't aimed at you...."
“Yes, it was. What have I done to upset you?"
Michael's back is turned to me as he stacks kindling and small screws of newspaper into the fireplace, making a neat pile which lights with a single match.
“I said I'm sorry." My voice is still sharp, though I don't intend it to be. He looks up at me in silence, then watches the fire for a few moments as the flames be
