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“I saved you a seat at dinner,” he said. “Why didn’t you sit there?”
I swilled my moonshine jar. “That seat was taken.”
“Not really, though.”
“What was I supposed to do? Sit on Kennedy Monroe’s lap?”
“I’m making a bigger point.”
Was he? What were we talking about? Thank God for the moonshine. I decided to ask, at last. “So. That interview you did with her ended on kind of a cliff-hanger.”
“Did it?”
“Yeah. She asked you to marry her.”
“Did she?”
“You don’t remember that?”
“It’s possible I wasn’t listening. It’s hard not to zone out with Kennedy.”
“But what did you say?”
“When?”
I kicked at him. “When she proposed to you?”
Jack shrugged. “I have no idea.”
Now I leaned closer. “A woman proposed marriage to you, and you have no idea what you said in response?”
Jack frowned at me like he couldn’t imagine why that was weird. Then something occurred to him. “It wasn’t real. Of course. It was all for the cameras. I thought you knew that.”
I felt my body relax, like it was starting to melt. “Why would I know that?”
He frowned. “How could you not know that?”
“So… it was just for show?”
Jack looked at me like I was an adorable dummy. “Of course.”
“Kennedy Monroe is not… your fiancée?”
“Please.”
“Is she your girlfriend?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Does she know she’s not your girlfriend?”
“Of course.”
“So what was she doing here?”
Jack shrugged. “Boredom? Photo op? Her publicist called my publicist and asked if she could crash.”
“But what was all that at the bonfire?”
