Oh, that’s right, the day trip to Naxos – byhelicopter. I should have upped my already sizeable fee. Julian was certainly getting his money’s worth.
‘Brilliant,’ I replied with another fake smile.
Geez, Ally, at this rate, you’ll secure a sponsorship deal with Sensodyne.
‘Excuse me, Mr Cushing…’
Christos appeared, bearing a bottle of wine and slipping seamlessly into sommelier mode. He showed the label to Julian, who gave a nod, then deftly uncorked the wine and poured tasting measures into our glasses. Just like he’d done last night.
I wondered if he knew how close I’d been to inviting him into my bed. But if he did, he seemed to be playing it cool. Though I couldn’t be sure – I didn’tdaremeet his eye with Julian sitting right there.
God, this was like some hellish maths problem.If Ally is stuck on an island with two ex-husbands and a flirtatious, somewhat tempting waiter/driver, how long until Ally goes completely mad?
‘As you already had an aperitif, I thought we’d get straight to the wine,’ said Julian, dragging me from my mental maze. ‘It’s a Kydonitsa from the Peloponnese.’
I took a sip, then licked my lips. ‘It’s delicious.’Eyes on Julian. Eyes on Julian.
‘But what do you taste?’ he asked.
Wonderful – Julian’s (obnoxious) tasting-notes game where I would clumsily attempt to describe the wine with my limited palate, and he would coax me along until I unearthed the ‘correct’ answer.
‘I taste Greece, Jules,’ I replied, and he seemed to understand that I wasn’t in the mood for playing.
Julian nodded at Christos again, and he topped up our glasses, then left the wine in the ice bucket by the table.
I exhaled – only one man to contend with now.
‘To old friends,’ Julian said.
‘To old friends.’ I clinked my glass against his, then took a large gulp.
‘Ooh, here’s our first course.’
I followed Julian’s gaze to see Christos emerge from the kitchen, two plates in hand. Hardly ideal, him waiting on us. But, suddenly ravenous, I cared less about who brought the food and more about what was on the plate.
‘Aegean lobster carpaccio,’ he said, setting our plates in front of us, ‘prepared with Santorini capers, shaved fennel, and citrus-infused olive oil. Enjoy.’
He left and I admired the creative plating. ‘It’s almost too pretty to eat,’ I said, hesitant to disturb the perfect tableau on my plate.
‘I could say the same about you.’
I looked at Julian, my head falling to the side. ‘Jules, that’s super cheesy.’
‘Sorry, it’s just…’ He reached across the table and took my hand, and I fought the urge to take it back. ‘Do you ever wonder if we made a mistake?’ he asked. ‘Getting divorced, I mean.’
Julian had hinted at this before, that ending our marriage was a mistake. But the biggest mistake I’d made was staying too long, forgiving him time and again for his infidelities.
Divorcing him wasn’t a mistake. In fact, it was one of the most empowering times of my life, when I finally decided to put myself first. But there was no mistaking the sadness in his eyes, nor the regret. I’d have to choose my words carefully.
‘No, Jules, I don’t,’ I replied gently, placing my other hand on top of his and giving it a squeeze. ‘We’re better off as amicable exes –friends. That’s what we toasted to. And on that…’ I said, releasing his hand. I took the bangle out of my clutch and laid it on the table between us.
‘No, that’s a gift.’
‘It’s the wrong kind of gift, Jules,’ I replied. ‘I’m sorry.’
He looked down, resting his fingertips on the bangle and tapping lightly – a tell that he was unsettled. When he lifted his gaze, his eyes searched mine.
‘So, what kind of gift is the right one?’ he asked.
