Page 19 of A Very Happy Thanksgiving
“I heard on the grapevine you tried to cosy up to him, and he knocked you back.”
She waved a hand in my face, two rings glinting in the morning sun. “I’m married.”
“By all accounts”—I echoed her words back to her—“that’s never stopped you before.”
I got ready to duck, but to my surprise, she just laughed.
“All in the past, sweetie. I’m a confirmed monogamist now.”
“How does that even work?” I blurted before I could stop myself.
“Monogamy? Well, you just don’t fuck other people.”
“Such as a Navy SEAL, a French diplomat, an FBI agent, and a computer geek who went on to marry one of your best friends?”
Another laugh. “Hey, you forgot the President of the United States,” she said sarcastically. “My twenties were wild, but congrats on doing your homework.”
“Unlike you.”
“Not to sound up myself, but you haven’t exactly been on my radar until now.”
“Liar.”
Everyone was on Emmy Black’s radar. Priest said she stored her kompromat in a vault. But I’d kept my relationship with Marc—Marc Gregory, as he’d been in those days—quiet enough that it didn’t make his Wikipedia page, and he’d never spoken about me publicly either. I’d always been camera shy, so there weren’t many photos of teenage me floating around, and folks in Abundance were protective of us after what happened with Dad. Everyone there had known Rex Roebuck was a tyrant, but nobody had stood up to him. Hell, half the men threw admiring glances in his direction even as they feared him, the cowards.
Uh-oh, why were Emmy’s eyes gleaming like that?
“Fuck me, you hooked up with Marc di Gregorio?”
Inside, I tensed as my mask slammed back into place.
“How do you get that from this conversation?”
“You’ve defended him twice now, plus there’s all that deflection, projection, whatever you want to call it. And did you deny it? No.”
“Well, that’s a giant leap to a dumb conclusion.”
“Oh, please. He’s a red-blooded male, and you’re pretty in a girl-next-door way—exactly his type,” she said, peering closer. “Is that your real eye colour?”
“Of course it is,” I snapped. My green eyes and chocolate-brown hair both came from my mom. “How would you even know what Marc’s type is, other than the fact that it clearly isn’t you?”
“A little birdie told me that he propositioned Serena and she passed.”
“Are you serious?” A chill ran through me because I could see him making that kind of move. And I hated it. “Who told you that?”
“I never divulge my sources. Maybe I should have been a reporter?”
“I’m gonna feed her to a fuckin’ shark,” I said. It just popped out. What the hell was wrong with my mouth today?
“Ah, there she is.” Emmy grinned. “Everyone thinks you’re the sane, reasonable one in the Choir, but you’re really not, are you?”
“Fuck you.”
“That’s my husband’s job now, honey. We already had that discussion. So, you and Marc, huh? I did think it was a bit weird when my darling hubby called Priest to ask if he had any contacts in Indonesia, and he said he’d hop on a plane right away with a team. But that all makes so much more sense now.”
“It’s over. It’s been over for years.”
“And that’s why you decided to literally drop by? Damn, he dumped you and you never got over it. I’m right, aren’t I?”
