don’t think that’s the only reason she’s decided to stay in town and spend more time with me.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
“But you think it is, don’t you?”
He doesn’t answer, just looks out the window, which is answer enough.
“She’s actually signed a year lease for her apartment. And she’s seeing a therapist and she says she’s not going to date for the next six months.”
“I hope things turn out well.” His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Anyway. I’m paying for the furniture. I mean, who even knows what your aunt will want to keep at the end of the summer when she comes home? She’ll probably want to get rid of everything, because she’s going to be mad as hell when she finds out about our deal, so I’ll be moving everything out and donating it.”
Our deal. Yes. There’s always that. “Either way, at the end of the summer, after the sale goes through, I’ll get a small chunk of money and I will pay you for half,” I insist.
He looks annoyed. “We’ll see. Also, I’m treating you to lunch. Don’t argue.”
“But I–”
“Silence!” he says in a ringing, commanding voice. Then he looks at me in surprise. “Whoa. It worked! I’ll have to remember that.”
“Don’t get too excited.” But I can’t suppress a small smile. “I just had nothing to say at that particular moment.”
He drives us over to Le Gourmand, and our waiter seats us at a table with a view of the Wine Knot chapel and vineyard.
While Donovan jogs over to the restroom, I order a bottle of Witlocke chardonnay to go with the salmon I plan to order. It’s a little gesture of thanks for him covering the cost of the furniture and appliances – for now.
A shrill voice rings out. “My goodness. That can’t be good for the baby, can it?” Carrie. Of course. She’s sitting at a table near the window, by herself. The tables all around us fall silent.
“I’m not pregnant,” I say, raising the volume on my voice to match hers. “That was a false alarm.”
She skewers me with a skeptical gaze. “Did you claim you were pregnant just to trap him into a fake marriage?”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Carrie!” I’m just about reaching the limit of my patience. “First you’re claiming that the marriage is fake, and now apparently I lied to trap him into marriage.”
Donovan, returned from the restroom, sits down in the chair across from me.
“You did?” he says mildly. “Color me shocked.”
The waiter appears by our side, with the bottle and two glasses. I gesture at him to open it.
“I guess I’m busted.” I smirk at Donovan. “Sorry, sucker. This must come as a terrible shock to you. I know you only married me because I claimed to be pregnant with triplets, at least one of whom, possibly even two, were yours.”
The waiter, his eyes as wide as saucers, stands transfixed.
“Hmm. You’ll have to explain the science of that to me.” Donovan picks up the menu and gives it a quick glance, then returns his attention to me.
“Well, it starts when a mommy and daddy love each other very very much. So they get married. And then the daddy and mommy have some private time together and they take off all their clothes. Then there’s some kissing and stuff. Then he puts his– Hey, where are you going?”
Carrie leaps from her seat and shoots out the restaurant door like a seed squirting from a watermelon.
I grin at Donovan. “And that’s how it’s done!” We high-five each other.
“Aw, man,” the waiter says. “I never got to hear the ending.” He opens the wine bottle, pours a glass, and offers it to me.
“I don’t need to taste it. I’m sure it’s delicious, since everything Witlocke is of the highest quality.” I layer in just enough dry sarcasm in my tone to keep it from being ridiculous.
The waiter pours my glass and Donovan’s glass. I inhale deeply. Unlike buttery California chardonnays, this has a brighter acidity. I take a sip and let the juicy stone fruit and citrus peel flavor sting my tongue.
Donovan grins. “That was actually fun.”
I return the smile, and it feels weird and right all at the same time. “I don’t want you to think that I’m actually on your side,” I say quickly, before this warm fuzzy feeling has a chance to settle in and make itself at home. “It’s just that I want to mess with Carrie even more than I hate the Witlockes. So I