“Well.” I don’t know what else to say to that. I pick up my cappuccino, which has gone lukewarm in my mug.
Ian reaches across the table to run two fingers over my wrist bone. It’s not meant to be an intimate gesture. Just a way to get my attention, but my nerves fizz with warmth anyway.
“Hey,” he says softly. “It’s nothing personal. I just don’t think I’m capable of love. Not the kind we’re talking about.”
I’m not sure I believe him, but I let it drop. “I guess it’s good to know your own limitations.”
“What about you?” He lets go of my hand and sits back. “Have you been in love?”
“Absolutely.” I don’t even hesitate.
“Sounds serious.”
“Chronic is more like it.” I smile, even though there’s an unexpected rough edge to my voice. “I’ve been in love lots of times. Head over heels, tripping over my own lips, mindlessly dizzy, Facebook-stalking, obsessive love.” I give a helpless shrug. “I’m not going to sugarcoat this, Ian—I’m a sucker for love.”
“But you’ve never felt that way about me.”
There’s no ego behind the statement—it’s definitely a statement, not a question—and I appreciate that more than he knows. Ian isn’t the sort of guy to be hurt by my honest answer.
“That’s true,” I say slowly. “I have never driven past your house at two in the morning to see if you really are out of town on a business trip or if your secretary’s Subaru is in your driveway.”
“Ouch.” Ian winces. “I take it that’s a true story and that you saw the Subaru?”
“Yep.” I take another sip of coffee. “I’ve also never spent six months taking RCIA classes to become Catholic because it’s important to your family that you marry someone who shares your faith.”
“You did that for a guy?”
“Um, definitely a guy when we dated.” I clear my throat. “But it turned out our lack of sex life had less to do with being super-Catholic and everything to do with a desire to—um—not actually be a guy anymore.”
Ian blinks. “Oh—wow, that’s?—”
“Totally okay,” I assure him. “She goes by Cassondra now and is married to an amazing woman named Katie.” I smile to let him know it really is fine. “I was in their wedding last fall. It was beautiful.”
Ian flattens his hands on the table, sympathy clouding his eyes. “Still, that had to be rough.”
“Not as rough as the time I gave up my rent-controlled apartment near the Pearl District and sold all my furniture to move in with a guy who changed his mind eight months later and said we were better off as friends. This was right after college.”
“Shit.” Ian looks thoughtful. “Is that why you’re so committed to owning your own place?”
“Bingo.” That, and other reasons. My mother being one of them. I’m way too familiar with what happens when a woman allows herself to become too dependent on a guy. Maybe that’s one reason I’m actually considering Ian’s ridiculous proposal.
Ian rubs a hand over his chin. “So that’s what love looks like,” he says. “Stalking, religious conversion, and loss of valuable real estate.”
“Not all love,” I insist, though I don’t know why I feel compelled to defend the institution. It isn’t like it’s been all that great for me. “Just the unhealthy love.”
“I guess that’s kind of my point.” He smiles his lopsided Ian smile. “There’s nothing about me that makes you want to stalk my house or change religion or give up valuable property or anything like that. And you don’t make me want to do those things, either.”
“True.”
“So I guess that’s what I’m after,” he says. “Without the emotions that make people do illogical things.”
God, he makes a decent point. I’ve been hung up on what I might be losing by agreeing to this marriage-of-convenience, but there’s plenty I’d be gaining. Friendship. Loyalty. Sanity.
“Okay,” I say slowly.
“Okay what?”
“Okay. Let’s get married.”
