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She didn’t seem upset by this knowledge. In fact, she looked more concerned about me than she did about the news of my pre-meditated murder of her late spouse.
“Is that not what we’re talking about?” She sat up suddenly, her eyes large, looking around to see if anyone overheard us.
“No!” I tried to assure her. Then I rubbed my hand over my face and laughed. “But I am relieved that you know and that you’re not… distressed.”
She shrugged. “He was a twat.”
“Indeed.” I nodded. “No, that wasn’t what I was confessing.”
She reached out an elegant hand to bring her wine to her lips. “Go on.”
From the corner of my eye, I could see Rose, or Jubilee, leaning towards Brett. I would have given my right arm to hear what their tête-à-tête was about.
“There’s a woman,” I finally said, reaching for my wineglass and taking a healthy sip.
“Is she the one in black?” Sophie asked sweetly.
“God, how did you know?” I was truly baffled now. “Did you take up mind reading recently? Discover some telepathic powers I don’t know about?”
“It’s a small town. She stands out.” Sophie shrugged. “She’s very attractive. Incredibly mysterious.”
Sophie bit her lower lip, playfully. I chuckled, rubbing my hands over my face. I snuck a glance at Rose who was still engrossed in her conversation with her companion.
“Does she have extensive knowledge of classical art and music?” She looked at Rose, peering over her shoulder.
I reached out and grabbed Sophie, tugging at her to make her look back toward me.
“Don’t look!” I hissed through gritted teeth.
Sophie laughed. Her voice was like a bell, sweet and vibrant.
“Good lord, you’re going to give me away.” I said, chuckling.
“Tell me about her!” Sophie pressed. “Tell me about the woman who has finally captured the attention of our beloved Alastair Cian Green.”
“Well, I don’t think she knows much about music, classical or otherwise,” I confessed. This perturbed Sophie, but she kept silent, waiting for me to tell her more. “But she has, unknowingly, inspired a symphony I may want to use your voice for.”
“Oh!” Her eyebrows rose high, and she was delighted. “She’s a muse then.”
“No, it’s…” I was searching for the words to explain. Her strength was like the beating of a drum? Watching her fight was more alluring than the most sensual ballet? That my fingers on a piano were inspired by the twists and turns of her body?
For the next ten minutes, I vomited out the words I hadn’t even told the lads at Caledonia. The fight in France, and how she felt in the locker room. The fight in New York. I even felt free to confess the sweet taste of Rose in the back of the car before we arrived at the bar. Sophie theatrically fanned herself as if she was getting heated from the tale and would faint like a damsel at any minute.
“She and I have reached a little impasse, though.” I said carefully. “She refuses to… admit to certain things.”
“And you find her lying to be an insult.” Sophie knew me so well. That’s what decades of friendship got you.
“I also admit to…” I wanted to phrase this delicately. “Playing a game. I may be using you as bait.”
“Ah,” she said with a knowing smile. “Am I here to make her jealous?”
“Does that make you angry?” I really didn’t want her to be mad about it. She was precious to me in the way old friends are.
“No, of course not.” She reassured me. “I don’t blame you. She’s very sexy.”
I chuckled and teased, “Good Lord, are you going to make a play for my woman?”
She shrugged. “I’d take one for the team.”
