Page 43 of Dearly Betrayed

Her lips press together. She’s wearing a silk blouse and black slacks, her hair down and brushed over a shoulder. I’ve never seen a woman so beautiful in my life before, all of her practically glowing in the low restaurant lighting. I could crawl across the table and eat her like a dog at a bowl, devouring her, lapping her up. I can hardly keep my eyes off her, which is an actual problem.

I keep forgetting that I despise her.

“How about we toast to you keeping your hands to yourself for an entire night?” she suggests instead.

“Alright, here’s to self-control, and my complete lack of it.” I hold up my glass and drink.

She snorts and sips. “That’s good,” she admits, sounding almost grudging about it. “How much is this glass, anyway?”

“Don’t worry about it. Does it help to know that most of the profits end up back in our pockets?”

“You mean your pockets.”

“Ours, actually.” I slip a heavy black credit card across the table. “I understand that you’re my fake wife and you dislike me as much as I dislike you, but that doesn’t mean I won’t take care of you while we’re together.”

“How charming.” She doesn’t take it.

“I’m serious. I get it, we hate each other. My family killed your father, and your family murdered my best friend. But while you’re mine, I will take care of you, whether you like it or not.”

“I don’t like it.” But she finally slides the card over and puts it into her purse. “But I can’t escape it.”

“No. You really can’t.”

“Might as well enjoy myself a little then. Live the high life.”

“Your family wasn’t exactly poor.”

“No, we weren’t, but nothing like this.” She brushes a hand down her blouse’s sleeve. I picture running my fingers along the same route, then down lower, along her flanks to her thighs, listening to the sound of her breath coming faster and faster. “Comfortable by Dublin standards. Better than most, worse than a lot.”

“You had a big family to take care of.”

“Yes, yes, we did. That’s my brother’s problem now.”

“He’s doing a good job, if that helps at all.” I’m not sure why I care what she’s feeling, but I find myself wanting to reassure her all the same. “I’ve been in constant contact with my European office, and I’m told your brother’s been nothing but competent.”

“Yes, that’s how I’d also describe my brother.” She looks away as the waitress returns with the first course. I had the chef prepare something special—and we’ve started with what looks like roasted scallops with sweetcorn, tarragon, and melted onions. All plated to perfection.

“Are the two of you close?”

“I’d say yes, but he’s out in Dublin and I’m here married to you.”

“What a win for you then.”

She laughs again and picks at the food. After one bite though, her eyes widen a touch, and I can tell she likes it but doesn’t want to say so. I let her have as much as she wants, content to drink wine and watch her.

“My father always had us at each other’s throats,” she says after nearly clearing our shared appetizer. “He said healthy competition made us stronger. I was something of a tomboy back then.”

“I can see it. You’ve still got some of that fire.”

“Some of it? I guess I’ve been soft on you then.”

“My father was the same way, always trying to make the four of us compete, but we didn’t let it ruin our relationship. We’d always talk about it, and no matter what happened, no matter how bad the fighting got, we ended up promising never to hate each other. It worked in some ways, and in others it didn’t.”

“I think I know what you mean. My brother and I love each other. We’re close for siblings. But we’ll never be that close. Too much history.”

“Exactly. I think there’s a reason the four of us split the empire and took our own pieces. I love my brothers, but I couldn’t stand living with them for long.”

The waitress refills our wine glasses. The next course comes out: pan-fired Cornish turbot, charred leeks, crab, shellfish butter. It’s obscenely delicious, and I get an odd pleasure watching her eat, listening to her make little happy sounds with each bite.

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