glanced around her. All the tables were occupied. “It’s obviously the place to spend a romantic evening.”
“Presumably that’s why Catherine chose it.”
Maggie felt like a fraud. They were surrounded by couples enjoying their relationship. She and Nick were faking theirs.
“Champagne, courtesy of Mrs. Reynolds.”
Two glasses were placed in front of them along with a small plate of canapés and Maggie waited until they were alone again before she caught Nick’s eye. “Don’t say it.”
“What?”
“You were going to make a reference to what happened last time I drank champagne.”
“I was not. This is one glass, Mags. You emptied the drinks cabinet on the flight. In fact France might now have a champagne shortage.”
“Thank you for your tact and delicacy, and for respecting my wish to forget it.”
“Why would you want to forget it?”
“Because I was an embarrassment to my entire family. Well, not Katie because she didn’t witness it, but no doubt Rosie will have shared the horrors of it by now.” She’d always been pleased that the two girls had each other. She would have loved a sibling.
She studied the menu and then put it down and caught Nick smiling at her. “What?”
“I happen to think you were adorable.”
“Adorable?”
“When you consumed the champagne. You lost your inhibitions.”
“You mean I all but molested you in front of my daughter and her soon-to-be husband. And told them this was a second honeymoon. If it weren’t for that champagne, we wouldn’t be sitting here now.”
“I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be.” He raised his glass, “To us.”
Her heart gave a little kick. “There is no ‘us,’ Nick. We’re divorcing, remember?”
“Not tonight. Tonight we’re on our second honeymoon, although I feel compelled to point out that we had no money on our first honeymoon so the food and drink were nowhere near as impressive. This version is vastly superior.”
Everything about him was light, whereas she felt weighed down and heavy.
Pretending in front of the people she loved was one thing, but this was different. This felt real.
“No one is watching.”
“We don’t know that. You want it to get back to Catherine that we repaid her hospitality by fighting?”
“We don’t fight.” She felt exhausted. It could have been the physical activity but she thought it was probably something else. Something she didn’t want to think about.
“You’re right. We don’t.” He studied her. “Why don’t we?”
“I suppose after all the years we’ve been together, we’ve learned what works and what doesn’t.” Marriage was like a dance, trying to move to the rhythm of life, searching for a pace and a path that suited both people. Some floundered, but they hadn’t. They’d simply spun away from each other.
She lifted her glass. She didn’t want to toast “us.” She didn’t want to toast the future, because right now she wasn’t sure she liked the way it looked. Toasting the past was likely to make her feel sad. The only thing left to toast was the present. “To now. This evening. May the horse not run away with us down the mountain.”
“That sounds like a metaphor for life.” He tapped his glass against hers. “To an evening of fun.”
“Fake fun.”
“The fun doesn’t have to be fake.” He closed the menu. “There was nothing fake about our snowball fight. I enjoyed it. Probably because I won.”
Maggie choked on her champagne. “I won!”
“That’s not how I remember it.”
“Then you have a selective memory.”
“That last shot that went right down your front? That was a winner.”
“Next time I’m not going to spare you. Prepare to be defeated, Professor.”
“Your aim isn’t good enough to defeat me.” He pushed his glasses up his nose and the familiarity of the gesture made her heart ache.
She missed this. She missed their little exchanges across the meal table. She missed those small gestures that were part of him, and that she knew so well.
He pushed the plate of canapés closer to her. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I was planning my strategy for the next snowball fight.” She put her menu down and selected a small creation of smoked salmon and fresh chive.
“It doesn’t matter what your strategy is, I’m ready for you. You’re going to lose. Have you chosen?”
“I’m having the goat’s cheese.”
“You can’t. I’m having the goat’s cheese.”
“We’re allowed to eat the same thing.”
He frowned. “We never eat the same thing in a restaurant. We always split. That way we try more than one dish.”
Splitting dishes was something they’d done when they were young and didn’t have the money to eat out