Before I get to remind him of that, he veers off course suddenly.
He glances at me, irritation leaking through his voice. “Didn’t Sir William take you out on dates?”
“Oh, no.” The little vase between us is cool under my fingertips. “There weren’t any dates.”
More like a convenient arrangement. A relationship of opportunity for a while. I didn’t need to be wined and dined before we both got what we wanted.
“Why?” Adam presses, gaze sharp. “He looked like he’d already picked out the names of your future children.”
“Are you asking as a concernedfriend?”
“I’m curious,” Adam says, too casually. “Why would you say no to the life you’ve always wanted? Or is running away just part of your MO?”
The words stab me straight in the chest like an ice shard. Thankfully, the “waiter” arrives, slamming two plates of eggplant stew in front of us with a brisk “Mangia, mangia![4]”
Technically, he hasn’t breached the truce. This one’s on me. I should’ve bargained for point four. No bringing up the past.
We eat in brittle silence through the next dish, which I quietly pray is the last.
Come to think of it, I’d rather stuff my face than let loose what’s been burning on the tip of my tongue.
Like:What about your dates, Adam? Is there any single woman in New York who hasn’t seen the inside of your bedroom?
“Jackie.” He places the silverware neatly on the plate, voice low. “I still worry about you.”
My pulse spikes, but I keep my smile placid. “You’ve mentioned. Wouldn’t want Carter to stress about his little sister too much.”
He frowns. Then leans forward, across the small table, reaching for my hand. “That’s not what I—”
Like I needed another sign from the universe to step back, the old lady bursts through the swinging doors, clapping her leathery hands together. “All good?”
I point to the wiped-clean plate. “Delicious, thank you.”
“Moment”, she says, lifting one thin wrinkly finger. She comes back with more stuffed fried rice balls in a to-go box. And a bottle of wine.
“Oh, thank you. How much do I—” Adam asks, taking out his wallet.
The woman shakes her head, no strand of her white hair out of place. “You no pay. Goodbye.”
Adam tries again. “But—”
“No, no.” She’s unwavering, looking like she runs the show around here. “Eat food, drink vino, make babies.Ciao!”
She swirls toward the kitchen, barking something in Italian at the three men, and our pinstriped “waiter” waves, a wolfish smile exposing his very white teeth.
We’re too confused to protest and stagger out into the sunlight, dazed, with Patrick’s grumbles trailing behind us. “Good thing nobody got shot.”
Inside the car, Adam and I stare at each other.
“Was that—”
“Definitely a mafia front,” we say at the same time and burst out laughing.
This whole day has been so weird and fun. I let it all out, wiping my lashes, until I’m spent.
When he finally catches his breath, Adam says, “Let’s take these goodies to Carter and Eliza. Maybe they’ll get started on that baby.”
The longing slams into me like a punch, so sharp, my ribcage feels like it might splinter.
