Page 29 of Meet Me in Montreal

“That’s not a problem. I’ve got a place. It’s nice,” he assured her. “But I’m in charge now. What I say goes, and I say you’re putting that notepad away. No working.”

“Since when are you in charge? I seem to remember having to make the plans for us after we got married.” She said that with a smug expression. He was going to make sure that was gone too by the end of the week.

“No, youdecidedyou had to, and you argued with me every step of the way when I tried. That’s over. Now put those notes away.”

Vanessa’s eyes widened again. “I promised Jace I’d work while I was away,” she argued, clutching the pad to her chest like it was one of Bobby’s vulnerable babies.

Oh yeah, Jace. That model-looking motherfucker at her job. Santino had scoped him walking and laughing with her outside of court more than once or heading to a bar after hours with their colleagues. No sign of him near the house, though. If he had shown up there, that pretty face wouldn’t have stayed that way.

Santino reached over and gently pried her notepad from her grasp. “Jace needs to find someone else to worry about that. No work and all play makes Vanessa a very dull girl. And I need you to be a verygoodgirl.”

She rolled her eyes again at that. “Oh my God, you’re corny.”

“Come on, you love that shit,” he scoffed. He was swimming in excitement, hardly believing that this attempt had actually worked. He tried to lower his expectations, but it was next to impossible. “Anyway, the food here looks good. We should eat. I’m hungry.”

Vanessa folded her arms across her delicious round breasts, her face setting into that stubborn expression he knew too well. “I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” he declared, then proceeded to order for them both. A skirt steak for him with fries and an herb-roasted chicken breast for her with a garden salad.

It was one of her favorites. She eyed the food when it arrived, then toyed with the silverware until finally, in the face of his voracious eating, she tried some. Soon they were both eating, not speaking. It wasn’t like them to sit in silence together, but he wanted to ease into the newfound truce with light footsteps. The air was full as it was with the laughter of the other diners, the jazz wafting over from the nearby open-air venue.

When they were done, Santino slapped his palms on his thighs and leaned back. “Aw yeah. That was awesome. I kinda dug the fries. Never figured I’d like them with cheese and gravy.”

He knew it was calledpoutinefrom his short research. He was waiting for her to correct him with the right name as she would have in the old days. Vanessa remained silent while he settled the bill, dabbing at her mouth with her linen napkin.

Undaunted, he announced, “Alright. Let’s go see this dump of yours and get your things.” Her mouth twitched at that, whether from annoyance or amusement, he didn’t know.

“It’s a Metro ride and a long walk,” she warned as she stood. At least she was speaking again. That was positive.

“Forget the train. I rented a truck for the week when we need one.” Gallantly, he stood too and made a slight bow. “After you, madame.”

10

I’D RATHER PRETEND

VANESSA

It was surreal. This whole thing was fucking surreal. Never in a million years had she really believed Santino would come all the up to Montreal to play out his little catfish cockblock game. Seeing him walk into the garden had spun her head inside out. And she had to admit, the emotion that had welled up inside her to see his big, tall, familiar frame and his eyes lighting up when he saw her in turn was something suspiciously more like relief than anger. Maybe even a little…excitement?

But was she only kidding herself? If she really thought it was him, why had she kept “playing along” and given him the time and place to meet here in Montreal? Had she really wanted to spend her time off work basking in her brother and sister-in-law’s perfect love while they fed each other grapes as jazz played in the background? Was she prepared to slink off alone to an empty bed every evening while they sped off to their room like teens in love?

Fucking no. Now at least she’d have the safety of being part of a couple even if the other half was a complete pain in her ass and the ruin of all her plans.

Nevertheless, whatever shady motivations she kept trying to shove back into her subconscious, she still wasn’t going to forget what Santino had done that led to their breakup or the way he’d behaved for the past three years. There was no forgetting how he’d run off Scott and, in the process, humiliated her. He wasn’t going to win this. She couldn’t let him.

One week of dealing with him and I’m free.That alone was incentive enough to try to play nice. Just nottoonice.

On the journey to pick up her things and check out of her small hotel on the outskirts of town, Santino was talkative, almost upbeat, as if they hadn’t just spent the last three years locked in a bitter battle of wills. She didn’t have much to add to his commentary on new facts he’d discovered about Montreal on his way up, informing her of their loose itinerary.

“Tonight, we’ll go listen to some music after dinner. Tomorrow we’re going to see the light show at the cathedral. The guide says everybody needs to go at least once.”

“Uh-huh.”

She was only going to bide her time and count down until the first argument, which had usually happened on Day 2 on all their previous vacations. If he needed to be reminded of why they probably should never have been married in the first place, she was going to let it play out. She was absolutely confident that by the end of this week, he’d besprintingto sign those papers.

“And here we are,” he announced as they pulled up to the hotel he’d somehow booked.

It turns out this place was downtown on Rue de la Montagne, not far from the café. It was housed in a skyscraper that shot upward into the azure sky, reflecting all that joyful blue and milk-white clouds in its golden, mirrored surface. She’d passedthis place on the way to the café but hadn’t paid attention to the name affixed over the entryway in bold gold lettering: L’Hotel Li.

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