Page 27 of Mob Princess

No, you won’t. That’s complete bullshit. You’re more likely to call a man the wrong name.

He taps on the glass once I’m seated beside him, and the door opens. He offers me his hand once he’s standing. When we look at each other, something shifts in his eyes. It’s like he came out of whatever trance he was in while we were alone in the car. His demeanor shifts back to what it was when I met him in the lobby. Is it because we’re back in public? Does he not believe in letting even his face show some PDA?

“Let’s go in. My brother has a table for us. I don’t want to make you late for your next meeting.”

His tone has changed along with his expression. It hurts. A lot. We just shared one of the most intimate moments of my life, and he’s so detached you’d think he wasn’t a part of it. I wait for him to put his hand at the small of my back when we get to the door, but he just holds it open.

The hostess smiles at him, and he returns it. I want to claw her eyes out. It’s not anything sexual. But why does she get warmth when he’s turned frigid with me? The possessiveness I felt in the car when we talked is flaring into a blaze. It’s unsettling.

He pulls the chair out for me and stands until I’m seated. That wasn’t for me. I’m certain it was drilled into him. I feel myself withdraw as I look at the menu.

“I’d offer a recommendation, but everything is good here.” Some of the ice just chipped away. But it’s probably because he’s thinking about his family.

A different waitress comes over, and she’s just as friendly. But she looks a bit like Sean. I must have stared a little too long when I watched her walk away.

“That’s Katie. She’s my third cousin or something like that. The woman at the door is her sister, Mary Beth.”

“Is all of your family that close?”

“Yeah. Both sides.”

I was so close to looking him up on the alumni site, but I forced myself not to. I want him to volunteer it. When I think about what we just did in the car, and we don’t know each other’s last name, it makes it feel all of this has been a protracted one-night stand. I don’t like it.

I smile because he does when he thinks about his family again. There are no lines around his eyes or mouth when he isn’t smiling, but they appear when he does. It makes him look boyish and at ease. Seeing him like this makes me realize how intense he’s been the two times I’ve been around him. He tilts his head a little before he speaks again.

“What about you? Are you close to your family?”

“I am. Both sides, but I grew up with my mom’s side.”

“You said your brother is a little less than two years older than you. Irish twins?”

Was there something in his tone when he said those last two words?

“Not that close. But I come from Irish families on my mom’s and dad’s side.”

“Was it hard leaving Montreal to move to New York?”

“It was hard leaving my mom behind, but—besides the weird accents—it didn’t feel any different.” I grin, hoping he’ll smile again. Success.

“How you doin’?” He sounds like Joey on Friends.

“Well, doncha know.” I don’t draw it out quite like I did when I texted it.

Was our first and only phone call really only a day ago? The meeting with Nishida felt like an eternity. It dragged so much it’s like yesterday was a lifetime ago.

“What about you? Was it hard to leave New York to live in DC for two years?”

“No. I went back and forth a lot. I knew all the train conductors by the time I graduated.”

“Did you come back every weekend?”

“Most. I worked for my family, so I still had commitments up here.”

Was that a veiled comment? Is he hinting at something that he wants me to ask? Or just the opposite? Is it a warning not to pry?

Occupational hazard of working in intelligence. There are ten questions to everything before it becomes a fact.

“Does Amtrak have loyalty points or something? You could have racked up the frequent flyer miles.”

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