“How’d you sleep?” Maxim asks, in a voice low enough that only I can make it out.
“Good, yeah,” I say.
“Mary, you gotta try this. Zuppa toscana,” Sasha says, absolutely butchering the pronunciation, and I’m sure my shock shows on my face.
“I’d love to.” I take a seat on the stool in between where Sasha sits and Maxim stands. The tall chairs make me feel less like the shortest being in the room, but not by much.
Elise ladles a few scoops of soup into a bowl for me, grating some parm over top before placing it in front of me with a genuine smile. I swear, the girl kind of looks like a Disney princess. Like she might start singing beautiful melodies that call forth vermin and woodland creatures to do her bidding.
Maxim’s fingers on my wrist pull my attention from the chef, and I look down to see him deftly cuffing the sleeves of the sweater I stole so that it doesn’t hang so low over my hand. I offer my arm for him to do the other as well, and as soon as he’s done, he’s back to listening to Sasha like nothing happened at all.
The soup is delicious, absurdly so, and I listen as Sasha tells a story about people I’ve never met, Elise cutting in with questions or charming laughter every few minutes while she chops various vegetables on the island.
“Are you an Orlov, Elise?” I ask. It’s clear that she and Sasha work in the same social circles. Elise flushes, like the question embarrasses her, and her eyes flash to Maxim.
“No, I just grew up in the same building as this one,” she points the tip of her knife in Sasha’s direction. “We went to school together.”
“Do you know my sister? Willa?”
Sasha, Willa, and Sean all graduated high school together, at which time Maxim would have been finishing college, and I was, well, ten.
“Sure do,” she says. “Haven’t seen her in years though. How is she?”
“As sickly in love as she was then,” Sasha says. “Now she’s got three kids, though. Hot shot lawyer.”
“Hot shot,” I repeat with a laugh. “You are so right about that. Are you married?”
Elise looks down at her chopping board where she deftly slices an onion.
“No, much to my mother’s agony,” she says. “Max was nice enough to help me find work after I finished culinary school.”
Max?
I turn to my husband who’s already looking at me, watching me eat like he does. Freak. He smiles before looking back down at his phone.
Now, if they’re so friendly, does Elise know this is a sham marriage? Two people who barely know each other thrown together to make a baby and play house?
Does he confide in her?
The thought is unfathomably uncomfortable to me, the image of him making friendly conversation while she cooks meals for him twice a week for who knows how many years? And now for me too?
I’m suddenly not hungry, but I drain the last of the broth and stand from the stool. Maxim abandons whatever email he was sending and looks at me expectantly.
“I told Angel and Artie I would take them out today. Time away from the baby,” I say by way of explanation.
“I’ll come with you,” Maxim says, once again brazenly including himself in my plans without invitation. It’s bold, I’ll give him that. “I’ll drive.”
I’m about to tell him he doesn’t have to, but Elise is watching the interaction, and if I tell him to stay, he’ll just be here with her and Sasha, being friendly and chattering on in the kitchen while she cooks.
“Okay,” I say instead, and find a coat and boots.
It’srare that we get to drive alone together, but with Samuel having the day off to attend an event for his son, and Sasha off to take care of business at one of the clubs, it’s just us. Maxim drives and I pick at my cuticles.
“Elise is very nice,” I say before I can stop myself. I keep thinking of her gentle hands and straight hair. She’s like Rapunzel, I think. Or Cinderella.
I, on the other hand, am often more goblin than girl.
“Why didn’t you marry her?”
