Not his messed-up hair, nor NASCAR, nor butterflies had thrown him off his game. He was the boy in childhood photos who wore pressed shirts and new shoes. She was the girl in childhood photos with a hand-me-down dress and scratched knees.
She resented him and at the same time liked him far too much.
Their appetizers arrived, a tremendous relief, and Gemma tore into her salad like an inmate at a Russian prison.
Jude ate more slowly. When he finally finished his soup, Gemma jumped to her feet. “This has been great! So much fun.”
“I detect sarcasm,” Hugo said.
“Sorry,”not sorry, “to steal him away.”
“I’d love to snap a picture of the two of you before you go,” Mom said.
“No pictures.” Gemma crossed to Jude and took hold of his hand. “Good night, everyone!”
The chorus of goodbyes from her family was so noisy that it interrupted the conversation of the other diners. Jude inclined his chin like a Prince Regent, telling them how nice it had been to talk with them.
When she finally got him upstairs, he waylaid their server and paid their bill and a tip. Minutes later, they were accelerating away from Pasta Bella in the Mercedes.
He’d been a paragon of good manners at the restaurant. But now she could feel rays of anger shooting off of him. His profile was like slate. The silence prickly.
“It was reckless and unnecessary,” he said, “to mention butterflies.”
“Yes,” she agreed. She was a big enough person that she could already admit to herself that she shouldn't have done that.
“Why'd you say that? Because you were irritated with me?”
“Yes. I was irritated.”
“Why?”
“You told them you'd been eagerly waiting to meet them, which makes me the selfish shrew who was too ashamed of them to introduce you.”
“That’s no excuse. You cannot let irritation cause you to react in a way that jeopardizes my identity.”
“Do you really think, after regaling my family with your extensive knowledge of their professions and hobbies, that any of them thought to themselves,I don’t think that was actually Gemma's boyfriend because I don't believe he collects butterflies?No. Only a boyfriend would know the things you knew about them. You gave them far more evidence to support the fact that you're my boyfriend than any of my actual boyfriends ever have.”
“You were out of line. Never forget that this is a deadly game we're playing.”
“Last I checked, Grandpa Stevie's not very deadly with a bread knife.”
“What about Vincent, Gemma?” he asked tightly. “Do you think he's harmless?”
Stubbornly, she said nothing.
He cut a look across at her, then turned back to the road.
When he pulled to a stop beside her Vespa, she exited the car without a word.
She waved for him to drive off while she fumbled with her helmet.
He did not. He waited, steadfast.
She found her keys and adjusted her purse cross-body so that the bulk of it rested at her lower back. Then she put on her gloves and her night-driving glasses.
Gemma was going to be the death of him.
Jude remained motionless inside the Mercedes, watching her Vespa's taillights disappear.
