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“I try,” she says with a smirk. “Now seriously, I can’t stay for too long. Let’s get to it.”
She readies the pen in her hand and stares at me with a blank expression. “What’s your history?”
“Undergrad in political science from the University of Nevada. Law degree from Boyd School of Law. Worked as a criminal lawyer for five years before—”
“That’s great,” Abi interrupts. “How about something I can’t get from a Google search?”
I narrow my eyes. “Like?”
Abi lets out an exasperated sigh that makes me want to strangle her. She sets her pen down, leaning back in the booth. “Why did you stay in Las Vegas to go to school? According to the internet, you graduated with honors at both places. I would’ve expected something more prestigious. Did you apply to other schools?”
I shake my head. “I was set on where I went.”
“Why?”
“Why does it matter?”
Her brows crease as she squints at me. “Are you joking? This was your idea.”
“They aren’t going to ask you that,” I snap. I recognize as soon as the words are out that my anger is unnecessary. I’m not used to this. My skin crawls at the idea of Abi knowing about my life, my past.
But she’s right. This was my idea, and it’s necessary.
I shrug and pretend I didn’t just snap at her. “I like Las Vegas.”
She nods slowly. “Mkay…”
“Next question.”
“You don’t look full-blood Italian.”
“That isn’t a question.”
She rolls her eyes. “How are you related to—”
“Choose your words carefully.”
Her mouth stays open as she glances around the nearly empty diner. There’s a hipster looking kid in a corner booth typing away on his laptop, and a couple guys by the window speaking with their voices low. I don’t think Lorenzo would be obvious enough to send his guysintothe diner, but I try not to make assumptions. The man is unpredictable.
“How are you related to your cousins? And why aren’t you close?”
This is so much harder than I thought it would be. My muscles immediately tense, and I can feel the invisible guard raising around me. A multitude of practiced responses come to the forefront of my mind, and I question if Abi truly needs to hear anything different. They won’t be quizzing her on my family tree or my choice of school. Even if they did, how farfetched would it be for me to lie to myactualfiancée about my past? It’s not only plausible, it’s—
“Colter.”
I uncurl my fingers from fists and rest my sweat-slickened palms on my thighs.
Abi’s nostrils flare with annoyance. “If you aren’t going to answer any of my questions, what the hell is the point of this?”
“I think it’s more important that I know about you.”
She rolls her eyes and leans back in the booth. “Fine.”
“What’s your history?”
“I’m from Little Rock. Grew up in foster care after both of my parents died in a car crash. Got knocked up at twenty-three and have bounced around states ever since. I never felt like I’d found home until coming to Las Vegas where I met the love of my life.” Sarcasm drips from her tongue at that last part.
“Why Vegas?”
