I freeze, my glass of wine almost to my lips. Oh God. He’s going to ask about the night I left again.
“How many boyfriends have you had?”
I stare at him agape for a moment, then laugh, relieved at how inappropriate and yet harmless the question is. “Why do you want to know that?”
He gives an elegant shrug with one shoulder and starts to peel one of the prawns. “I would like to know if I’m bigger and better than them.”
“That’s not a fair comparison.”
“You felt my cock weeks ago. You can judge it based on that, though if we really want to make it fair, I think you should probably take a look at it too.”
I scoff, trying not to laugh but failing. “You’re unreal.”
“I’m very real. You felt so yourself. So tell me, how do I compare?”
“You’re my boss, not my boyfriend.”
“Semantics.”
From the wicked, determined look in his eyes, I know he’s not going to drop this. I cock my brow and say, “You’re bigger and better.”
He breaks out into such a wide grin that it gives me chills. The good kind. The kind that cascade down your spine and make you shiver because you’re feeling so damn much. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear. Almost makes up for that shrug you gave me the other week.”
I shovel rice into my mouth and smile at him.
He chuckles. “Okay. So who was your last boyfriend?”
“Oh my God,” I say through a mouthful and swallow down my food. “What’s with the questions?”
“I want to know you, Gabrielle. This is one way.”
“You just want to use this as an excuse to talk about all your sexual conquests in return.”
“I promise you, I don’t. They’re pretty much all the same anyway. Girl wants me, I fuck her, she leaves, and I never call her again.”
“And I bet you’re so proud of this, aren’t you?”
“No,” he says with a shrug. “I’m not proud. It just is what it is. I don’t have time for relationships. You know how busy I am.”
That comment shouldn’t bother me, but it does, like I was actually thinking for a moment that we had a relationship, when in reality, not only is that the worst idea in the world, it couldn’t be further from the truth.
“People make time for what’s important.”
“And what could be more important than money?” he says, wiping his mouth with his napkin and sitting back in his chair. He locks me in his gaze. “So tell me.”
I sigh into my wine, briefly closing my eyes. “I haven’t had any boyfriends. I’ve had some flings. That’s it.”
His forehead creases. “Really?”
“I have . . . issues.”
“You don’t say. Perhaps you have the same issues as I do.”
“I highly doubt that.”
“I take it you don’t want to talk about it?”
“With you? No.”
“With anyone?”
He’s got me there. I shake my head but don’t elaborate. I know I’d probably be a much healthier, fully functioning human being if I talked about my trauma with someone, but the thought of even opening up, not just about what happened but what I want to do, my thoughts, my life in fear and those dark, restless nights, makes me feel like I’m bleeding dry.
“How about you, then? Let’s talk about your love life. Your ex-wife in particular.”
He squints at me and has a long sip of his wine. When he finishes, he settles back in his chair, the angle off-kilter because of the sand, and sighs.
“What do you want to know?” he asks calmly.
“Did you love her?”
He shakes his head slightly. “No.”
“Not even a little?”
“No,” he says, more adamant this time, nostrils flaring.
“Then why did you marry her?”
“I guess I was young and stupid.”
“Young, yes, but definitely not stupid. Was it all part of a long con? Did you marry her just so that you could blackmail Olivier?”
“No. I didn’t. It hadn’t even occurred to me at that time. I mean, my father hadn’t . . . It doesn’t matter. It’s in the past.”
“Right. But we can’t get to know each other unless we share our pasts. That’s what you said.”
“I did not say that.”
“Not in as many words, but you can’t expect a one-way street here. Why did you marry her? For real? Was it what you wanted at the time, or was it all your father? Your mother?” Just give me something to work with here, Pascal.
“I married her because I was told to,” he says sharply, spitting out the words in distaste.