“I’m fine,” she said a little too tightly. She blew out a ragged breath, hiding her hands beneath the table as she clenched them into fists. “Sorry. I’m not feeling like myself today.”
“I’m sorry, too,” Logan whispered. “I’m sure all my late nights haven’t helped.”
That’s what he was sorry for, was it?
“No, they haven’t.” She pushed her wine glass around the table, smearing the condensation on the glass. “Logan?”
“Hm?”
She looked up at him, meeting his uncertain gaze. “Do you love me?”
He swallowed hard at the question even as he smiled in response. “Of course, baby. You know I do.”
Had he always looked like that while he was saying those words? Like he was barely holding back a wince? Had she really been that blind?
“What would you say if I wanted to push up the wedding?” she asked in a saccharine tone, noting how his eyes widened infinitesimally. Was that surprise or horror? “I was thinking I might like to elope. We could do it this month, even. Get it out of the way, start our lives together.”
She didn’t know why she was needling him, but she couldn’t stop. Sam’s expression was totally impassive, so she didn’t know if she was imagining the amusement rolling off of him.
“Oh, I… I don’t know, Effie. The demo is this month, and… I mean, we already have deposits for the venue and the catering, so…” He squirmed, his panic a tangible thing.
“Fuck it.” She smiled insincerely. “It’s my money, anyway. Who cares? Let’s get married, honey.”
Sam turned, giving Logan an expectant look.
He frowned at the android in obvious confusion. His eyes lingered for a moment before he turned his attention back to Ophelia. “Um, I don’t know, babe. We can talk about it.”
“We are talking about it,” she said, leaning forward on her elbows. “Aren’t we? What more is there to say?”
His mouth fell open, but he was clearly at a loss for words.
“Or maybe there’s something else you’d like to say to me?” She batted her eyes at him, her folded hands tucked beneath her chin. “Is there, Logan? Something you want to say?”
His face slowly turned red. He shook his head as he shifted restlessly in his seat. “What’s gotten into you? You’re acting really weird.”
She slumped back hard enough to make the chair creak beneath her, throwing up her hands in supplication. “Sorry, you’re right. I’m just feeling spontaneous this week, I guess.”
He drained his wine glass in one fell swoop.
“Why don’t you tell me about your weekend?” she asked, tapping her fingertips against the edge of the table. “Anything eventful happen?”
He blinked at her, that red flush spreading to his ears. “Not really. Just a lot of boring work stuff. Coding and troubleshooting, you know. The usual.”
“The usual? Really?”
Logan’s frown deepened as he nodded slowly. He reached for the wine bottle and—was that a slight tremble in his hands?
Sam beat him to it, holding it just out of reach. He smiled in a spooky way that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Allow me.”
Logan sat back, pushing his glass toward the android with one hand. “Effie, if you’re still upset about last week, we can talkabout it. I can tell you’re not happy with me, and I want to work it out.”
“You do?” The question was flat, inflectionless.
He opened his mouth to reply, but what came out was a curse as he leaped to his feet, toppling his chair over. Sam had poured and poured until his glass overflowed and the wine spilled into Logan’s lap, staining his cream-colored slacks.
“Jesus, what the fuck?” Logan cried, swatting at the growing stain.
“Oops,” Sam said without emotion. He grabbed the cloth napkin off the table and opened it with a flick of his wrist, leaning forward to pat down Logan’s crotch.
