“Rita?” Poor Polly. Her head moves between us like she’s at Wimbledon.
“Inside joke, Mum.”
“Oh.” But Polly still looks disturbed.
“When you know, you know. You’ve always told us that,” Lavender says. “You and Dad didn’t know each other for very long before you got married, did you? And look at how happy you both were.”
“Yes, that’s true.”
“And what about Whit? One minute, he’s insisting Mimi is nothing but his PA even though we all knew he was treating her like his little toe and banging her on every bit of furniture in his office—”
“Lavender!”
“Next, they’re getting married. And you were over the moon. You don’t look like that now.”
“Whit had known Mimi for years,” Polly protests. “He was in his thirties.”
“So is Raif. Barely,” she adds under her breath.
“Sorry, what?” Her mother’s head swings between us like a two-year-old with a Lazy Susan as she tries to figure out what’s going on. I can’t say I blame her. Lavender isn’t exactly selling our love.
“I’m thirty-six,” I offer with an engaging smile. “Lavender does love her little jokes.”
“Whit might’ve been older, but Mimi was around my age.”
“Yes, but—”
“She’s not your daughter, so not your concern?” Lavender offers. Taunts?
“I wasn’t going to say that. I think of Mimi as my daughter.”
“You weregaggingfor them to get together. Stuck your ore in and everything. So why can’t you be happy for me? Why do I have to be different?”
“You aren’t different, darling.”
Oh, but she is. My wife is a brilliant strategist and excellent deflector. If she ever tires of art, she could try acting. Or maybe world domination.
“It’s not as though I joined a cult,” she mutters before downing a mouthful of her soda. “Though I’m sure Raif could start a cult if he wanted to.”
I don’t think she’s referring to my charisma. My tongue, however…
“Will you be taking some time away from the gallery?”
“No. Why would I?”
“To spend some time together? At his beautiful house. A honeymoon?”
Lavender gives her head an adamant shake. “The gallery is still my focus. And Raif has his own stuff going on.”
Before Polly can ask about my line of work, I add, “Lavender made it clear from the outset that the gallery is her priority. I understand how important it is to her. Pulling her daughter into my side, I add, “We have a lifetime to look forward to.”
“Oh, how lovely. And supportive.”
“Your daughter means the world to me.” It’s not entirely a lie. Marrying her means the world. It helps me protect what means the world to me, at least.
“Well, congratulations,” Polly adds with the kind of false gaiety no one would buy. “To you both…” She seems at a loss for words.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” Lavender suddenly seems to wilt against me before stumbling into her mother’s arms.
