Page 31

On Saturday, Marlowe bleached the purple stripe in her hair until it was just a faded lavender suggestion. So long, roadie days. Goodbye concerts with pyrotechnics. She’d seen the light, or at least discovered that country music had actual melodies and not just screaming guitar solos.

She vaguely remembered from her time dating Jace in high school that a picture of Benjamin Franklin hung in his family’s living room. His parents must be huge fans of the man. She downloaded his autobiography from the library, listened to it while she cleaned, and even jotted down a few good Benjamin quotes. Those would win her points for sure.

On Sunday, she dressed in a respectable ivory silk blouse and black skirt. She could have driven herself over to the Clark house at five, but Jace insisted on picking her up.

When he came to her door and saw her, he shook his head in disapproval. “You’re supposed to be worrying my parents, not making them think you work as a newscaster.”

“You didn’t buy me the red leather mini skirt,” she said innocently. “And I don’t really have any worry-the-parents clothes.” She grabbed her leather jacket from the closet and slipped it on. “But here, look, now that I’ve added this to my outfit, I seem a little dangerous, rebellious, and no longer capable of delivering news stories with an authoritative tone.”

He dipped his chin and his eyes fixed onto hers. “Are you trying to blackmail me into buying you the skirt?”

“Blackmail is something a bad girl would do. That’s why you chose me.” She walked past him out the door and strolled to his car. He clicked his key fob so that the door unlocked, but she still stood by the passenger side without getting in.

It only took him a moment to realize why. Without comment, he came around to her side and opened the door for her.

“Thank you.” She smiled and slid into the car. She wasn’t sure why she was making a point of this. It was only a small victory, forcing this deference out of him, but she would take what victories she could.

As he started the engine, she leaned against her seat and considered him. “Didn’t you open doors for Jennifer?” Somehow, she couldn’t imagine Jace doing anything but pampering his rich, sophisticated girlfriend.

He pulled away from the driveway and headed down the street. “Jennifer thinks that holding doors open for women is a degrading bygone product of the patriarchy.”

Marlowe rolled her eyes. “Yeah, because showing women respect is degrading.”

His gaze momentarily slid over to her. “You don’t think opening car doors implies a woman isn’t capable of getting in on her own?” He actually sounded surprised.

“No. Granted, the tradition came from a time when women needed help getting in and out of carriages because they wore restrictive dresses and carriages sat high up off the ground—again, I read a lot of Regency novels—but being chivalrous is a sign that a man wants to take care of and protect a woman. And I, for one, don’t mind that.” She sighed wistfully and shook her head. “We never should have let men stop being chivalrous. Just like we never should have let them stop wearing top hats. Back in Regency times, men had to dress like they were five minutes away from either composing poetry or attending a duel.”

“Which do you think men should be doing?”

She ignored the question. “They wore tailcoats, riding boots, and cravats. Now, for some unfathomable reason, we allow them to slouch around in T-shirts and baseball caps.”

Outside, a procession of homes went by, along with signs that spring had really come. New leaves on trees and a lilac bush that was starting to bloom.

“Back then,” Jace said, “didn’t men also wear tights?”

“They wore close-fitting breeches, which are much more manly than tights.”

He gave her the side-eye. “So you want a man in tight breeches to take care of and protect you?”

“The breeches are optional, but yes. And in turn, I’ll take care of and protect my man. That’s what relationships are about, aren’t they?” Ideally. Hopefully.

He cocked an eyebrow, and a smirk grew on his lips. “How do you plan on protecting me?”

“I’ll let you know when the occasion arises.”

He glanced at her, regarding her with a mixture of amusement and frustration. “You just like being difficult.”

Maybe.

He knew her too well, and suddenly she worried he would contact one of her old boyfriends to ask whether she made him open doors for her. Because no, she hadn’t.

She tugged her skirt down. “What should I know about your family? I mean, what would you have told a real girlfriend?”

He shot her an unhappy look. “We’re doing it again. We’re talking about our fake relationship. We need to act like we’re really boyfriend and girlfriend.”

She gestured to the empty seats behind them. “I doubt anyone will jump in the car and hear us.”

“It’s the principle. We’ll get careless and say the wrong thing at the wrong time.”