Always the Last to Know by Kristan Higgins Page 0,98

which was really saying something in New York City.

He was there already, handsome, charming . . . shithead.

“You look beautiful, as always,” he said, leaning in for a kiss. I gave him my cheek. The maître d’ showed us to our table, which was in a corner, because Alexander always asked for a great table. The restaurant was everything I hoped it would be—sleekly decorated, Michelin starred, quiet, with well-dressed people murmuring and drinking.

I didn’t plan on murmuring, but first, I did want to order pretty much everything on the menu. Alexander, my soon-to-be ex-boyfriend, wasn’t getting out of here without bleeding money.

The waiter came over. “Hello!” I said, as was my way. “How are you tonight?”

“I’m quite well, signorina. My name is Luciano, and it is my pleasure to serve you tonight.”

“What a beautiful name,” I said. “Please tell your mom she chose well! Luciano, I’ll have the Fiorentino, please.” I pointed to the drink that cost, yes, forty-nine dollars. Only in New York, folks.

“I thought you didn’t like brandy,” Alexander said.

“I’ve grown and changed.” I smiled brightly. “What are you having, hon?” The endearment felt like poison on my lips.

“I’ll have the Dante,” he said.

“Very good, signore,” Luciano said.

“Oh, and we’ll have a bottle of Cristal with dinner, okay?” I said, smiling my sparkliest smile.

“Excellent! Which year?”

“Surprise us. It’s a special night.” I’d studied the champagne list after picking this place. The cheapest bottle of Cristal cost six hundred dollars, and the most expensive was well over a thousand.

“Babe,” Alexander said, “uh, that’s kind of expensive.”

“Oh! We can call him back, then, babe.” I raised my hand, knowing he would stop me. It would look like he couldn’t afford it, and he would hate that, especially here.

As predicted . . . “No, no, it’s fine. A special night, like you said. How are you, babe? How was your week?”

“So good, Alexander. So good.”

He smiled, not picking up on the venom in my voice. “Well, it’s great to see you. I hope you can stay a few nights. I’ll be in town for four days. We could have a lot of fun. The Guggenheim has a new show, and—”

I stopped listening.

He had made a pass at another woman. He wanted to sleep with her in the hotel where we’d had sex. That image of him kissing her on the neck . . . it was kind of a specialty of his.

I wished Gillian had kicked him in the nutsack.

When the waiter came back, I was ready. “I’m starving!” I announced cheerfully to both men. “It’s been a tough couple of weeks, Luciano, and I haven’t been in the city in ages, and I think I want a bite of everything! How about the sea urchin with pickled fennel, the Chinese caviar, maybe . . . hmm . . . the red prawn antipasto, and the garden salad, and oh! That lobster risotto sounds great! And for my main course, the sirloin, please. With the roasted potatoes, please. And heck, throw in those wild mushrooms, too.”

Luciano was in love with me now. “Excellent choices, signorina. For the signore?”

Alexander looked incredulous. “Are you sure you can eat all that, babe?”

“I’m super hungry, babe.” Sparkle sparkle. “Plus, you know how these Michelin-star places are. Every plate is basically two bites of food.”

Luciano chuckled warmly. “Signorina, you are correct. Just enough to whet the appetite for the next course, si?”

“Si,” I said, beaming.

“Signore? For you?”

“I’ll have the sea bass,” he said.

“Oh, come on!” I said. “You can’t let me sit here and eat all those courses and just have one! This is an Italian restaurant! To eat is to love, right, Luciano?”

“Si, signorina. The beautiful lady is correct, of course.”

I winked at him. Alexander had flaws, but being a shitty tipper was not among them, and Luciano would leave here with hundreds of dollars from our meal alone.

Alexander ordered a pasta course and the grilled octopus. I would also be ordering dessert. Possibly a dessert martini. Carter had already been notified about my romantic drama as I drove to the New Haven train station, and had ordered me to sleep over tonight, bless him.

I drank the cocktail, wincing a little at the taste but appreciating the warmth.

How could Alexander do this to me? Why? Wasn’t I the easiest, most laid-back girlfriend in the world? Had I ever complained about his travel schedule? Ever insisted he come to a school event or birthday party? Before my father’s stroke, he’d only visited Stoningham once. I