In May 2006, a CEO of the one of the banks who loved my vision was hosting a charity event to benefit MoMA. The CEO was seriously into art – something I knew nothing about – and even though it was an exclusive, black-tie event, I hadn’t wanted to attend. But his bank was a client and Peters was my do-what-I-tell-you-or-else boss, so what could I do?

I remember almost nothing about the first half hour, other than that I clearly didn’t belong. Well over half the people in attendance were old enough to be my grandparents, and practically everyone was in a different stratosphere when it came to our respective levels of wealth. At one point, I found myself listening as two gray-haired gentlemen debated the merits of the G IV when compared to the Falcon 2000. It took me a while to figure out that they were comparing their private jets.

When I turned away from the conversation, I saw her boss on the other side of the room. I recognized him from late-night television, and Vivian would later tell me that he considered himself an art collector. She’d wrinkled her nose when she said it, implying that he had money but no taste, which didn’t surprise me. Despite famous guests, his show’s trademark humor was best described as lowbrow.

She was standing behind him, hidden from my line of sight, but when he stepped forward to greet someone, I saw her. With dark hair, flawless skin, and cheekbones that supermodels dream about, I was sure she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.

At first I thought she was his date, but the longer I watched, the more confident I was that they weren’t together, that she instead worked for him in some capacity. Nor was she wearing a ring, another good sign… but really, what chance did I have?

Yet the romantic within me was undeterred, and when she went to the bar to get a cocktail, I sidled up to the bar as well. Up close, she was even more gorgeous.

“It’s you,” I said.

“Excuse me?”

“The one the Disney artists think about when they draw the eyes of their princesses.”

Not great, I’ll admit. Ham-handed, maybe even cheesy, and in the awkward pause that ensued, I knew I’d blown it. But here’s the thing: She laughed.

“Now there’s a pickup line I’ve never heard before.”

“It wouldn’t work on just anyone,” I said. “I’m Russell Green.”

She seemed amused. “I’m Vivian Hamilton,” she said, and I almost gasped.

Her name was Vivian.

Just like Julia Roberts’s character in Pretty Woman.

How does one actually know when another is right for you? What kind of signals does that entail? To meet a person and think, This is the one with whom I want to spend the rest of my life. For example, how could Emily seem right, and Vivian seem right, when they were as different as night and day? When the relationships were as different as night and day?

I don’t know, but when I think about Vivian, it’s still easy to remember the heady thrill of our first few evenings together. Where Emily and I were warm and comfortable, Vivian and I burned hot, almost from the very beginning, as if our attraction were fated. Every interaction, every conversation seemed to amplify my growing belief that we were exactly what each was looking for in the other.

As the marrying type, I began to fantasize about the paths our life together would take, our passionate connection burning forever. Within a couple of months, I was certain I wanted Vivian to be my wife, even if I didn’t say as much. Vivian took longer to feel the same way about me, but by the time we’d been seeing each other six months, Vivian and I were a serious item, testing the waters about how each felt about God, money, politics, families, neighborhoods, kids, and our core values. More often than not, we were in agreement, and taking a cue from yet another romantic movie, I proposed on the viewing deck of the Empire State Building on Valentine’s Day, a week before I had to move back to Charlotte.

I thought I knew what I was getting when I dropped to one knee. But thinking back, Vivian knew with certainty – not only that I was the kind of man she wanted, but needed – and on November 17, 2007, we took our vows in front of friends and family.

What happened next? you may wonder.

Like every married couple, we had our ups and downs, our challenges and opportunities, successes and failures. When all the dust had settled, I came to believe that marriage, at least in theory, is wonderful.

In practice, though, I think a more accurate word is complicated.

Marriage, after all, is never quite what one imagines it will be. Part of me – the romantic part – no doubt imagined the entire venture as an extended commercial for Hallmark cards with roses and candles and everything in soft focus, a dimension in which love and trust could surmount any challenge. The more practical side of me knew that remaining a couple over the long term took effort on both sides. It requires commitment and compromise, communication and cooperation, especially as life tends to throw curveballs, often when we least expect them. Ideally, the curveball slides past the couple with little damage; at other times, facing those pitches together makes the couple more committed to each other.

But sometimes, the curveballs end up smacking us in the chest and close to the heart, leaving bruises that never seem to heal.

CHAPTER 3

And Then What?

Being the sole provider for the family wasn’t easy. By end of the week, I was often exhausted, but one particular Friday evening stands out. London would turn a year old the following day, and I’d spent the day slaving over a series of sales videos for Spannerman Properties – one of the largest real-estate developers in the Southeast – as part of a major advertising push. The agency was earning a small fortune for their efforts and the executives at Spannerman were particularly demanding. There were deadlines for every stage of the project; deadlines made even more difficult by Spannerman himself, a man with a net worth of two billion dollars. He had to approve every decision, and I had the sense that he wanted to make my life as miserable as possible. That he disliked me, I had no doubt. He was the kind of guy who liked to surround himself with beautiful women – most of the executives were attractive females – and it went without saying that Spannerman and Jesse Peters got along famously. I, on the other hand, despised both the man and his company. He had a reputation for cutting corners and paying off politicians, especially when it came to environmental regulations, and there’d been numerous op-eds in the newspaper blasting both him and the company. Which was part of the reason they’d hired our firm in the first place – their image needed serious rebranding.