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Zach’s right; it is. I lift one of the arancini balls to my mouth, taking a bite so that the gooey cheese dribbles down my chin. I wipe it with my fingertips then realise he’s watching with a look that is unmistakably sensual. I dip my eyes forward, but heat burns through me. I honestly thought this might have fizzled out by now. I’ve never been with someone like him but I just presumed a purely sexual connection would fade as we indulged ourselves at every opportunity we had. And we’ve done that—a lot. When I showed up today it was with an arm of groceries. Of course, I didn’t actually get around to cooking for hours after I’d arrived. Zach had been waiting for me, naked and in bed, so what was I meant to do?
‘Where’d you learn to cook?’
‘When I lived in Paris.’ I reach for a lemon wedge, squeezing it over the other half of my arancini before sipping the wine. I lift one foot onto the seat, resting my chin to my knee. ‘I was fifteen, and didn’t speak a word of French.’ I shake my head. ‘That’s a lie. I could say vin blanc sec.’
‘Tsk-tsk. Drinking at fifteen?’
‘What can I say? I was a rebellious teen.’
‘I’m surprised.’
‘Are you? Why?’
‘You strike me as a rule follower.’
‘What gives you that impression? My desire to crush the patriarchy and set the world on fire behind me?’ I angle my head to show him I’m half joking.
He grins. ‘As a member of the male sex, should I be threatened?’
‘Oh, I’d keep you around for...amusement. When it suited me.’
‘Naturally.’
I grin. ‘We lived in a big, old apartment on Avenue Montaigne. It was so beautiful, but I was miserable. We moved around a lot—I was starting my fourth school in five years—and I’d left behind a best friend and a boyfriend in Tokyo. I was so unhappy and hated my parents, like all self-respecting fifteen-year-olds, I guess.’
He’s quiet, watchful and intent. I think this must be how he operates in the corporate world, micro-focussing and extracting what information he wants from a conversation.
‘So you weren’t always averse to the idea of boyfriends, then?’
I wrinkle my nose. ‘I was young and idealistic once, what can I say?’
He flashes a smile; my blood simmers.
‘What happened to him?’
‘Distance. Boredom.’ I lift my shoulders. ‘I’ve always had a short attention span.’
He lifts his brows. ‘Always? So no boyfriends since him?’
Out of nowhere I feel a blade of pain that I haven’t felt for a long time. I jerk my face away from his, surprised by the intensity. ‘I—was seeing a guy, a few years ago.’
‘It didn’t work out?’ His question is quiet and again I have that feeling that I’m under the microscope, being carefully examined by him.
‘No.’ I bite down on my lower lip. ‘It was a mistake.’
He’s quiet, waiting, and somehow that drags the words out of me. ‘When I first found out about Dad, it kind of cured me of the idea of relationships. I know that might sound silly but—’
‘It doesn’t sound silly,’ he promises. ‘You had a prime example of why men aren’t to be trusted. Seeing a man you idolised behave like that would have shaped your view of the
world. That’s only natural.’ His words sound as though they’re dredged from the depths of his soul.
‘I held that viewpoint for a long time. Then I met Patrick.’
‘And fell in love?’ he prompts thoughtfully.
‘No. I don’t know. I liked him, but not as much as he liked me. He fell in love and I liked having him around. I should have ended it way sooner but I kept leading him on.’ I drop my head forward, shame at that selfishness eating through me. My voice is raw as I continue, ‘Then one day Patrick proposed and I freaked out. I’d been stringing him along for two years, Zach. Two years. Because he was easy to get along with and I liked his company. Can you believe that?’
His frown is instantaneous. ‘He could have left. Asked you how you felt sooner.’
