“Not a problem, I’ll return in a few.”
As soon as he leaves, Matthew raises his martini.“Clean slate.”
I give in and touch my glass to his.“Clean slate.”
We sip from our drinks.The quiet hum of the restaurant fades as we hold each other’s eyes over the rims of our glasses.I savor the richness of the wine, trying to ignore the way my hand still trembles.
“How did you know I would show up?”
He swirls the toothpick of olives as he considers my question.“Because I know you won’t let it go without a fight.”
“It was entrusted to me.”
“You purchased it like any other interested party would have done,” he states.
“But she chose to sell it to me.Mary could’ve gotten a lot more for it.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Maybe in your world, everyone is out to get one another and money is the ultimate ruler.But there are still people who are less money-driven and more compassionate.”
“Well, your Mary is a one-of-a-kind businesswoman, because your own fiancé is putting money above all else.Not to mention that thing.”He points with disdain at my engagement ring.
“How can’t you see this isn’t about James?”I try, but fail to keep the frustration out of my voice.I take a long sip of my wine.
“Sorry, I got carried away.”
“I don’t think you did.I think it’s on purpose,” I argue.“And I get it.Believe me, nobody wants to end this”—I hold up my ring finger in his face, brandishing it like the middle finger—“more than I do.”
For the first time tonight, Matthew shrinks a little in his seat.
“I just can’t let him take it all.He’s taken enough.”
Matthew takes his time studying me through hooded eyes.“Fuck it.”
“I’m sorry?”I blink rapidly, shaking my head.
“Finish your drink.We’re getting out of here.”He raises his hand, signaling Josh.“Josh, the bill.”
Josh hurries over.“You won’t be dining with us?”
“Another night, maybe.We have somewhere we need to be,” Matthew replies.
“I’ll get your bill,” Josh concedes.
“Where are we going?”I ask as soon as he’s out of earshot.
“Somewhere simpler.”A soft smile touches Matthew’s lips.
“Simpler,” I repeat.I can barely comprehend anything other than the fact that he heard me.
Really heard me.
“Drink up, please,” he urges.
I down my wine in bigger gulps than I normally would.A warmth spreads through me that has more to do with the man watching me than it does with the wine.
He finishes his martini even faster, the olive pick clinking softly against the glass as he sets it down.
