Page 24 of Possession Under the Southern Stars

“Did you love Ian?” he asks.

I pick up my serviette and spend a moment shaking it out and placing it over my lap. “That’s a very personal question,” I say eventually. Then, because I know I sound resentful, I joke, “I thought we were trying to stay professional.”

He shifts in his seat. “You’re absolutely right. I shouldn’t have asked.”

I fiddle with the serviette. Then I sigh and say, “It’s okay. I’m not used to talking about my feelings, that’s all. Even with Elora and Zoe, I find it odd that they want to dissect every little thought.”

“That’s all we talked about as a family,” Fraser says ruefully. “I was brought up to analyze my feelings and emotionsand to discuss them openly. My father thought that was the key to keeping kids happy and healthy.”

“It does make sense. I think it’s unusual, though. My mum didn’t like talking about feelings, and so neither Dee nor I are very open. Dee’s relationship with Keelan is similar to what mine was like, although she seems a lot happier with it. I always felt as if something was missing, though. And, in answer to your question, no, I don’t think I loved Ian. I cared for him. As you said, we were together for a long time. But I wasn’t in love with him anymore. And now, thinking about it, I’m not sure I ever was.”

“Why did you stay with him so long?” he asks, clearly baffled.

“Because I thought it was what you did,” I say simply.

We stop as Rob returns with our coffees. As we sip them, he returns with a bowl of bread rolls and a white dish containing four compartments that hold butter, olive oil, salt, and dukkah.

“Thank you, that looks lovely,” I tell him, and he smiles and then disappears back behind the curtain.

“This is amazing,” I tell Fraser, as I take one of the soft, warm rolls, tear it apart, and dip it in the olive oil, then the salt and dukkah. I inhale the comforting smell before taking a bite, and sigh at the exquisite taste. “I’m having such fun,” I admit.

He chuckles, removing his glasses, then spreading some butter on his roll before having a mouthful. “Even though I’m interrogating you in a really awkward manner?”

I try not to stare at his beautiful blue eyes. “Aw, you’re not interrogating me. You’re encouraging me to open up a little. There’s nothing wrong with that. We’re friends first, aren’t we?”

He looks doubtful, but says, “Yeah, I guess.”

I sip my coffee, wondering whether to mention what’s been on my mind. Well, he started it.

“Tell me about Ginger,” I say.

His eyebrows rise. “Who told you about her?” Even as he asks the question, his expression turns wry. “Don’t tell me—my sister.”

“It wasn’t her fault. I asked. I was curious, because you said you’d had a relationship with someone else at work.”

He dips another piece of roll in the olive oil and dukkah. “What do you want to know?”

“Did you love her?”

That earns me another wry look, because it’s what he asked me. Then he sighs. “No.”

“Did she love you?”

“No. It was purely physical.”

I suck some butter off my finger, a tingle running down my spine. He means it was all about sex.

“I’m ashamed of myself,” he says.

I blink and stare at him. “Why?”

“She was married and had children. I knew that before I got involved, and I still did it anyway. What we did ruined her marriage, and no doubt scarred her kids, and I’ll never forgive myself for that.”

“That wasn’t your fault,” I scold. “They were her vows, and it was her responsibility to uphold them, or not. Anyway, from what I understand, she was older than you, so I’m sure she knew exactly what she was doing.”

“I wasn’t a kid. I was twenty-eight.”

“But she seduced you?”

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