them, confused.
“First of all,” Dani said when she’d finally recovered, “I’m married to his cousin.”
Marie’s eyebrows shot up.
“Second cousin,” Leo corrected, because he didn’t want to take any more credit for Vince than he had to. He ordered himself to stop staring at Marie’s eyelashes. It was just that they were so long, and the way her eyebrows had reacted to Dani’s statement had called attention to them.
“But they’re getting divorced because Cousin Vince is a jerkface,” Gabby piped up, and Leo congratulated himself that she’d internalized the “jerkface” designation, which meant that he and Dani had successfully kept their more colorful descriptors for Vince confined to conversations at which Gabby had not been present.
“Leo and Gabby come from a big Italian family, and I had only met them a couple of times when their parents died. But I always liked them. When I heard they were . . . looking for a place—”
“When she heard we’d lost the family house,” Leo corrected, because his pride did not hold with euphemisms, “she hooked us up with a unit in her building.”
“My soon-to-be ex and I were already separated at that point.”
“And then she started taking care of us and stuff, and now she’s our best friend,” Gabby said with the innocent forthrightness she still possessed despite the efforts of Dorothy and Glinda the bad Good Witch to stomp all over it.
Leo chuckled. He wouldn’t have said it like that, but . . . “That’s exactly right.”
“We probably should get married when the divorce is final,” Dani said. “It would make everything a lot easier. You could get my health insurance, and we could knock down the walls between the apartments and actually have some space to spread out.”
She was clearly joking, but Marie must not have understood that. “I thought Americans didn’t get married for anything less than true, all-consuming love?”
Her wistful tone—as if she admired Americans for their commitment to true, all-consuming love—made Leo want to ask why Eldovians got married, but for all he knew she was going to be married off to some evil prince who would keep her in a tower until her hair grew long enough for someone to climb up it and rescue her.
“Well, then I’m never getting married again, because I’m done with love,” Dani said. “Anyway, love aside, Leo’s like my brother, so . . .” She wrinkled her nose. “Gross.”
“Well, thank you very much,” Leo teased, though he agreed with the sentiment. If Dani ever got over her aversion to men, she would make some guy a fantastic girlfriend or wife, but it was never going to be him.
“And do you have a girlfriend, Mr. Ricci?” Marie asked.
“Nope,” he said. He didn’t have to look at Dani to know she was probably giving him a subtle eye roll. But it was true. He didn’t have a girlfriend. He had an ex-girlfriend—way, way, ex; they had dated briefly in high school—he sometimes hooked up with, but that was all he had going on in that department. Dani thought he should be “putting himself out there,” whatever that meant. It was a weird blind spot she had. He already walked around feeling like he was failing Gabby half the time, and Dani wanted him to add a girlfriend to the mix? Someone else he could fail? No, thanks. “No girlfriend,” he said again, probably a little too vehemently.
“I see,” Marie said serenely. But she turned away as she spoke, seemingly to pour herself more tea, though her cup was already full. She seemed like she was trying to hide a smile.
The real dimples were back, and wasn’t that interesting?
Chapter Seven
The problem with the princess was that Leo was starting to view the actual job part of his interactions with her as something to get through before he could get to the hanging out with her part.
As he drove Marie to appointments Sunday afternoon, he had to remind himself that this was it. There would be no more hanging out. No more skating, no more tea parties, no more pizza slices and maxi pad shopping. No more driving around talking about dead parents. She was going home tomorrow. And he was going back to his regular life.
She got back into the car—he’d been waiting for her outside Deutsche Bank—and held out an envelope full of cash.
He was going to back to his regular life fifteen grand richer.
He wasn’t sure what he’d expected. A check, maybe? A small chest full of golden coins?
His instinct was