The Marriage Of Inconvenience. Nina Singh

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      “Yeah, I guess there’s a huge storm on its way east.”

      “I hope the Bays’ flight doesn’t get canceled.” She forced a smile. “Logan still shuts down at the hint of a raindrop.”

      He nodded, his stare intense.

      She closed the door and turned to face him.

      “Here.” He held out his hand to her. A large stone glittered in his palm. “Your ring.”

      She reached for it. “I—I didn’t realize you were going to get a ring. It’s lovely.”

      “I tried to find a large one,” he said. “In case Tavov and Mila are wondering why you don’t always wear it, they’ll just assume it’s because of its large size.”

      “Well, it is a big stone.” She picked it up, a part of her wishing he’d slip it on her finger himself.

      “We have to look authentic. I rented it, along with a band for myself.”

      A lump formed in her throat. “I still have my original wedding ring,” she admitted, unsure why.

      “Oh.” He cleared his throat. “Well, I needed to get one. Besides, a large diamond is far more suited to you. Always has been.”

      She wasn’t sure how to respond to that. An uncomfortable silence settled between them. He hadn’t even held on to that small symbol of their marriage. It shouldn’t have disappointed her, but it did.

      “Anyway,” R.J. continued, “I brought over a few things so it looks like I live here when your guests arrive tomorrow.” He lifted the leather carrying case in his hand. “The rest will be delivered in the morning. Just show me where I can put it and I’ll have to be on my way.” He was brusque, to the point. R.J. clearly didn’t want to spend any more time alone with her than he had to.

      “I emptied part of the closet. It’s through those doors,” she directed him.

      She wanted him to stay. It had been so long since they had talked to each other.

      “Can I get you something to drink? Some tea? Or wine? I happen to have some of the red I know you like.” She happened to have it because she’d searched all of the North End’s Italian district for it.

      “Used to like,” he corrected her. “I don’t drink that anymore.”

      “Oh.” A dull ache nestled in her chest. She didn’t even know what he liked anymore.

      So much for having him stay awhile.

      An idea began to form. “Well. That might be a problem,” she said with more enthusiasm than she should have.

      “What? That I don’t drink the same wine I used to?”

      “No, that we’re supposed to be happily married still and we don’t know anything about each other now. I think we need to discuss this. Get our stories straight for the dinner conversation tomorrow night.”

      She started pacing along the long coffee table in the middle of the room. Max walked with her a few steps before settling himself near the fireplace.

      “There are all sorts of things I need to know about you, all kinds of questions I should ask, and vice versa.”

      R.J. looked uncomfortable for a moment. Letting out a deep breath, he rubbed his palm over his face. “I suppose you’re right.” He sat down on the sofa. “Looks like I’ll need some of that wine after all,” he added with a dry tone.

      An almost giddy relief washed over her. He would stay. “I’ll be right back,” she said and ran into the kitchen.

      When she returned, Max was snoring and R.J. had settled himself comfortably on the sofa.

      “All right, let’s start easy. How hard was it to start your firm?” she asked as she poured the glasses.

      He lifted his head to look at her. “That’s easy?”

      “No? Okay, we’ll get back to that one. What’s your favorite dish now?”

      “Franks and beans.”

      She felt her stomach turn over. “I’ve always hated franks and beans.”

      “I know.”

      She waved her hand. “Okay, what do you like to drink? I know it’s not this anymore.” She indicated the glass she was handing him.

      “Ouzo. I like ouzo.”

      “Ouzo? Isn’t that a bit hard-core?” Although it made sense, because so was he. He’d always been a firm man, but now he seemed harsher somehow, colder and more distant.

      “I just got back from the Mediterranean and found I’d acquired an appreciation for it. It tastes like liquid licorice with a punch.”

      She tried not to turn up her nose. “I’ve always hated licorice.”

      He waited a beat. “I know.”

      “All right, let’s move on. What music are you listening to these days?”

      “A little bit of everything, really. Except Armstrong. I don’t like Louis Armstrong at all. Much too lax and easy for me.”

      This wasn’t going well. “I love Louis Armstrong.”

      “I know.”

      It dawned on her suddenly. “You’re teasing me.”

      The corner of his mouth lifted.

      She leaned a knee next to him on the couch and gave him a useless shove on the shoulder. “Robert James Davet, you’ve been teasing me all this time with contradictory pretend answers.”

      He reached up and tapped a playful finger on her nose. “I guess I must know more about you than you think.”

      Electricity crackled between them. She had the sudden urge to ask him the questions that were running through her mind. The same ones she’d been seeking the answers to every day for the past three years.

      Is there someone special in your life now?

      Has someone been lucky enough to snare your interest and attention the way I used to?

      She cleared her throat. “What’s the last book you’ve read?”

      He told her, but it didn’t register.

      She nodded. “What do you do in your spare time?”

      Do you still like to linger in bed Saturday mornings?

      “Work,” he answered.

      That much she should have guessed. “What’s been your proudest achievement?”

      “The phenomenal growth СКАЧАТЬ