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“Have dinner,” I say. “Together?”
She nods. “I got the recipe from Bonnie. I don’t know if I’m really doing it justice, but it’s an attempt.”
She’s cooking dinner for us. The two of us. “Why?”
Her lips curl into a half-smile. “We’re supposed to play an actual couple tomorrow night with your business partners. If we’re going to pull that off… well, I’m sorry to break it to you, but we need work.”
“We need work?”
“Yes. If you look at the two of us interacting right now, not a single person would think we’re married, not to mention in a relationship.”
I pull out one of the kitchen chairs. “Right. And that’s a problem.”
“Well, it is if you want us to seem married. If you’d rather tell your business partners the truth, then that’s all right with me.”
I grit my teeth. “I’d rather not.”
“Well, then have a seat, eat some ravioli, and let’s talk about our great love story.”
I stare at her for a long moment. She looks right back at me, spatula in hand. She looks like she did when I got home the other night, only it had been a champagne saber.
It would be easy to send an email to my business partners and rain-check. Avoid them altogether for as long as our marriage lasts.
Avoid having to do…this.
But something draws me to the kitchen table. The lobster ravioli, most likely. It smells good.
“Okay,” I say. “Our great love story.”
Cecilia smiles. It’s not an expression I’ve seen often on her, and never before the past few weeks. “Do you want parmesan on your pasta?”
“Yes.”
It’s been a long time since someone other than a housekeeper cooked for me. She sets the plate down in front of me and grabs one for herself. “How was work today?”
I narrow my eyes at her. “What is this, really? Are we playing house?”
Something flashes through her eyes, but I can’t figure it out, because she looks down at her plate. “No. There’s no one here to watch us, either. I just thought it would be easier to talk over food.”
Easier. It would also be private. She didn’t want Bonnie here to listen to the two of us manufacture a love story out of a year’s working relationship.
I taste the food, spearing two of the lobster raviolis. The sauce is great. Almost exactly like Bonnie’s.
“This is good,” I tell her.
She looks up. “You think so?”
“Yes.”
“It’s a fairly easy recipe, but I might have aimed a bit high, going for your favorite right away.”
“This is my favorite dish?”
“Bonnie told me it was.”
“Hmm.” I do like it, and I might have made a comment to that effect once. She must have picked up on it. Goes to show just how good the staff I’ve hired is.
“So,” Cecilia says. Her voice takes on the serious note I’m used to, the one she always had when she briefed me on the week ahead, standing with her back straight in my office.
