all of Moira’s rules and was married to a perfectly fine guy with a trust fund. When Madison swept into the restaurant late without so much as an apology, Sasha had to wonder how she spent all her time. It was the same question Sasha often asked herself of the stars of the Real Housewives franchise. There was only so much time that someone could spend on glam.
After they’d air-kissed and Madison sat down, she examined Sasha. It reminded Sasha of the thing her mother did whenever they came home. But Madison didn’t usually say anything cutting right away. She kept her knives stowed for later.
“You look . . . great,” Madison said. Sasha was not prepared for a compliment. “Clearly driving our mother up a wall agrees with you.”
Sasha sighed. “I’m doing no such thing.” She grabbed a piece of bread from the basket at the center of the table and ignored her sister’s look of horror.
“I think the fact that you aren’t doing anything is what’s bothering her.” Madison must have fielded a call from Moira after Sasha had hung up on her on the way to the gym the other day.
“You know, running a successful small business is doing something.” Sasha slathered more butter than was strictly necessary on a second slice of bread. “Just because I’m not barefoot and pregnant like our parents’ prehistoric standards dictate that I should be by my big age doesn’t mean that I’m not doing anything.” Madison’s mouth dropped open. Sasha wasn’t usually so direct with her criticism of their parents.
Still, Madison’s brain didn’t short out. She didn’t skip a beat before asking, “So, are you dating anyone?”
Sasha weighed whether to mention Nathan. On the one hand, she liked to throw Moira a bone once in a while. But did she want to answer questions about Nathan at every lunch and brunch with her mother and/or sisters until she met the next guy that she tried to like?
There was never any question in her mind of mentioning the man who occupied her thoughts—Patrick. Madison would not understand why she had a crush on him. He didn’t even have any money.
In the end, throwing the bone came out on top. “I’ve gone out with someone that our mother might like, but I don’t think it will develop into anything serious.”
“Because our mother would like him?” Sometimes Madison got her.
“Precisely.”
“Well, she likes Tucker more than I do.”
“Trouble in paradise?” Sasha didn’t begin to try to understand her sister’s relationship. She’d met her husband at one of their parents’ parties. Sasha had always assumed that Tucker was a plant, and thus ignored him. But maybe Moira had just worn Madison down enough that she hadn’t had the will to fight her any longer.
“Marriage isn’t supposed to be paradise, Sasha.” Madison popped an olive into her mouth.
“Yeah, I’m going to rush right into that institution.” Sasha nodded at the menu. “Now, I’m going to order the pasta carbonara, and you’re going to share it with me because you and I both know that you’re not allergic to gluten. I’ve also swept the bar for our mother’s spies, so it won’t get back to her.”
* * *
—
SASHA DIDN’T KNOW WHY she was seeking out a face-to-face with Patrick after-hours. Scratch that. She wasn’t lying to herself anymore. She knew exactly why she wanted to see him. Against her better judgment and all the better judgment of anyone in the world—she liked him and wanted to spend more time with him.
She looked down at the thousand-piece puzzle that depicted the Sistine Chapel that she’d brought because she’d done all the other ones stowed away in a bookshelf, behind a corner table at Dooley’s over the past couple of years. It wasn’t as though she could seduce him with that. Plus, Dooley’s would probably be busy tonight. She’d set herself up in the corner and work on it alone with a glass of whiskey.
But when she’d opened the door, only a few of the tables had patrons, and Patrick clocked her presence immediately.
“Hey.” He raised his arm in a casual greeting that made her heart pick up speed. He was wearing a flannel shirt over a Henley, and she hadn’t known that it was possible for him to look any better than he did in a clerical collar, but here they were. “What can I get you?”
Patrick didn’t question her coming in, so she wouldn’t either. It was totally normal for her to show up at the bar