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Grinning, I turn back to my cup and where my ice cream is a half-melted, half-frozen mess and tip it up so it ends up covering my mouth and nose.
“Ooops.”
Émile looks fuckinggleeful.“Let me help you with that.”He grabs a fistful of my shirt and tugs me close enough that he can drag his tongue over my mouth, my nose, and when the warmth of his appreciative moan hits my face, I can’t help but grab a palmful of his ass.
And he’s right.
I should have known immediately that Neil wasn’t him.
Because Émile’s ass is one of a kind.
“My future husband isn’t shy about getting frisky in public,” he says. “That’s a big, fat pro for our life together.”
Oh, man. I turn away from him, clearing my throat and wishing I could ask for my spoon back so I could stab pointlessly at my ice cream. It’s getting too easy to get lost in this lie. For weeks we’ve been planning wedding things and talking details and meeting with obscure family members who weren’t at the lunch where he proposed. Even though most of my life right now is centered around the wedding, when it’s just me and Émile, I’m able to forget.
I smack my lips and turn my attention toward the Space Needle.
Émile’s boney elbow nudges my arm. “You’ve turned introspective.”
“Yeah. Sorry. Whenever things get a bit too much, I always come here to think.”
“Don’t be sorry. There’s nothing wrong with living in your head. But if you wanted to share those thoughts, I’m always happy to hear them.”
“I think I share too many thoughts with you.” I glance quickly his way and back across the water again. “We haven’t known each other long and look at where we are.”
“Standing on Lake Union? I hate to tell you this, but I’ve been here plenty of times before.”
“Really? Here I was thinking you snobby folks from Maple Park never slummed it in the GP District.”
Émile is uncharacteristically quiet as he turns a frown toward his hands. “When I was younger, my grandfather used to bring me here to fly kites. All the time when I was little, then on visits home once I was shipped off to school. We made a kite once. It was … right before I left for Cambridge. It wasn’t as busy here because the American school year had already begun. We came to fly it mid-week and he was so excited when we got it off the ground, even though it wasn’t the most aerodynamic.”
“You? Not good at something?” I pretend to gasp.
“It was fine, but we were no Wright Brothers.” Émile’s face falls, and I don’t like it. His face was made to be smiling. His lips supposed to be holding back that always ready laugh. Eyes bursting with amusement. They’re locked off now. “That was the last time we went.”
“I’m sorry.”
He brushes me off with a shake of his head. “Kite flying. I outgrew it before I was ten, but he loved it so much. I humored him. He was the only person in my family who acted like he gave a damn.”
“Your sister?”
“We were … different back then. Always had each other’s backs, of course, but we went to different schools, different colleges. She was—and still is—as lost as I am. We’re bondedthrough family trauma, whereas Pa just … loved me.” Émile’s face transforms to horror. “Sorry. Here I am going on about all this, to you, when … well, you—”
“Don’t have a family?”
“Well, I wasn’t planning on saying it likethat.”
“Why not?” Phrasing it differently doesn’t change a thing. “It’s true. And actually, it’s kinda a relief to know thatsomefamily members aren’t total dickwobbles.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
I shrug roughly. “Seemed appropriate.”
“I’ll say.”
It’s my turn to nudge him with my elbow. “Tell me about your Pa.”
“Really?”
