you clamoring to stand by my side.”
“Yeah, well, I forgot my sweater,” I snap. “I wasn’t properly dressed to withstand the chill you emit anytime I’m near.”
“Well, next time bring your parka,” he snaps back. “If Immigration Services comes sniffing, we can’t afford to have an entire roomful of people notice we’re barely civil.”
“Look on the bright side, at least we’re doing a fantastic job of selling our impending divorce. And for what it’s worth, we don’t need to worry about convincing my parents. I talked to my dad. He already knows why we’re married. The real reasons.”
His eyes snap open and he turns toward me. “You told him?”
“No. He already knew.”
Colin frowns. “I’ve seen your father nearly every week for the past ten years, and he’s never indicated he knew of our arrangement.”
“Of course he knew,” I scoff. “Anyone who spent any amount of time with us back then knew it was hardly a love match. And I’m pretty sure he noticed that we literally spent zero time together.”
“For all they knew, I could have been sneaking into your bedroom when I came and stayed with your family on holidays. Or that we met every weekend to have conjugal visits.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Gross.”
“Gross?”
I laugh because he sounds genuinely affronted. “Oh, come on. You’re the one who just referred to any physical relationship between us as conjugal visits. What is this, prison? And you know full well we weren’t exactly setting off sparks back then. I could literally see your lip curl in disgust whenever I opened my mouth, and I never really dug the whole man bun, bearded homeless vibe you had going on.”
“Homeless,” he mutters, looking out the window. “Jesus.”
“Water under the bridge,” I say, patting his leg in a sisterly gesture to prove my point about the lack of zip between us, even as my palm registers his leg is appealingly firm.
“And I accept your gentlemanly dinner invitation,” I add, because I’m more aware by the minute how hungry I am. “Where are we going? What’s at Greenwich and Christopher where they only serve Guinness and soda bread?”
“Yes, because that’s all we Irish bumpkins eat.”
“And potatoes. Don’t forget potatoes.”
He turns his head back toward me, the city lights casting shadows across his face. “Back then?”
“What?” I ask, not following.
“You said we weren’t exactly setting off sparks back then. Interesting distinction.”
My stomach drops at the intensity of his gaze, but I try to play it off. “You know what I meant. Just that back then, we couldn’t stand each other, and my parents knew it. Just like they know we can’t stand each other now, no matter how much my mom might dream of her baby girl marrying her surrogate son. I didn’t mean that we were setting off sparks now …”
I’m babbling, and true to form, he says nothing in response. And because I’m realizing this man won’t come out of his shell on his own, I decide to nudge him. “Are we?”
It’s his turn to look confused, and I’m pleased to have thrown him off-balance for once. “What?”
“Are we setting off sparks? Do I set you all aflame?” I say, giving him my best Jessica Rabbit look, which, honestly, isn’t all that good.
“No,” he says curtly.
And though I can’t say for sure given the darkness inside the back of the cab, I could have sworn his gaze lingered on the hem of my dress as he says it.
Chapter 14
Friday, September 4
“Oh my God,” I say, pushing my plate aside and exhaling with the sheer pleasure of a perfect meal. “I think that was the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”
“Better than the boiled potatoes you were expecting?” Colin asks over the top of his red wine glass.
“Don’t get me wrong, I love a good shot of Jameson and shepherd’s pie on St. Paddy’s day,” I tell him. “But no cuisine can compete with pasta.”
“I wouldn’t know. You ate most of mine.”
“We agreed to split them.”
“No, you ‘suggested,’ we split them, didn’t take no for an answer, and then ate the lion’s share of each.”
“An exaggeration,” I retort.
Well, sort of an exaggeration. My pesto was one of the better things I’d ever put in my mouth, but his short rib ravioli gave it a definite run for its money.
“So,” he says, topping off both of our glasses from the bottle of Barolo he ordered for us to split. “How was your reunion with your first love?”
“The pasta?”
He surprises me with a grunt of a laugh. “No. Drew.”
“Oh,