“I'm hungry for their Bolognese meatballs,” Cedric said.
“The service is slow,” Gemma countered.
“You love that place.”
“In theory, yes. I'm just not in the mood for it at the moment.”
“I want to go to Pasta Bella with you and Jude,” Cedric said in the stubborn tone of someone used to getting his way.
“I'd also like to eat there,” Jude said easily. Gemma was attempting to steer Cedric away from a restaurant in her hometown where they'd be more likely to see people she knew. But if they resisted too much, they might lose the chance for another meeting with Cedric before he returned to France.
The valet pulled up in Cedric’s rented Ferrari. “Will I be seeing you at Pasta Bella or not?” Cedric asked Gemma with a persuasive smile.
Gemma shook her head like,You rascal you. “You’ll be seeing us there.”
“I like it”—Cedric snapped his fingers—“when I get my way.”
“Yes,” Gemma said wryly. “I'm aware. Where are you two staying?”
“An Airbnb. Bangorstillhasn't built a decent hotel.” Cedric slipped into the driver's seat. Vincent took the passenger seat. With a roar of the expensive engine, they were gone.
Gemma's hand looped around Jude's elbow and they stayed in character while walking to the Mercedes. He tried to imprint the sensations on his memory—her beside him, her arm around his, their shoulders rubbing.
Too soon, they reached the car. Once they'd snapped their seat belts, he eased the car into motion. “You did very well.”
“Thank you. You also did very well. Did I overdo it with the physical affection?”
“I think you hit just the right note.”
“It seemed necessary in order to make our pretend romance look genuine. The poetry was a nice touch.”
“Thank you.”
“You should know that I’m very susceptible to eighteenth-century poets.”
“Nineteenth-century poets you mean.”
“I'm very susceptible tohistorical romanticpoetry! I cannot be responsible for my actions if you look at me and quote poetry like that again. So please refrain.”
He smiled.
“Will you refrain?” she pressed.
“I'm not making any promises.”
“You're playing with fire!”
Light from passing streetlamps fell into the car at regular intervals as they passed a block, then two.
“I know you were hoping I wouldn't need to be in the mix with Cedric again,” she said. “It didn't go down that way.”
“Right. I'm sorry that you'll have to continue this over dinner on Sunday.” That was both a lie and the truth. He was selfishly glad that he'd get to see her again on Sunday because he wanted her in his life and also, physically, just plain wanted her. But he'd never act on those feelings because doing so would violate everything he stood for professionally. So he was sorry that seeing her again could only bring him misery.
And a lot of joy, a voice within him pointed out.
But mostly unemployment and, thus, misery.
He’d never been more certain that the sooner she was gone from his life, the better for them both.
