“And don’t forget about the money. Appeals are expensive.”
“We’re sitting on a pretty nice nest egg,” I bragged.
“If it’s less than a seven-figure nest egg, I wouldn’t be so sure,” he said.
I sputtered into my wine, narrowly avoiding a spill. “A million dollars?”
“Depending on how long the appeal process lasts, it could be more.”
“Are you fucking around?”
His eyes locked on mine. “I never fuck around about money.”
“Shit.” I put down the wine and picked up my water. “Shit.”
“I could be persuaded to—”
“No!” I said.
“Definitely a concussion,” the woman at the table next to us stage-whispered to her husband.
“He’s, like, beautiful and handsome at the same time,” her husband whispered back.
“Why wouldn’t you take money when it’s offered, Sloane?”
Because it was his. Because he’d hurt me. Because I’d hurt him. Because the last time our lives had gotten tangled up, neither of us had ever recovered.
“Because I said so.” It was too bad Massimo turned out to be a big, stoned phony, because I was clearly ready to become a parent.
“Still unnecessarily stubborn, I see,” he said.
“I think we’ve both proven on multiple occasions that we can’t work together.”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t take my money to do something good.”
“That’s exactly what it means,” I said. “We don’t trust each other enough for money to change hands.”
“And whose fault is that?” he asked quietly.
“I think we both played a role.”
Our meals arrived, and we stared down at the plates before us.
Lucian heaved a sigh. “Let’s table this discussion for another time. I rarely get a Wednesday afternoon off, and I’d prefer to enjoy it.”
I picked up my fork. “Don’t you already own half of the Eastern Seaboard? How much money do you need before you can afford to start taking afternoons off?”
“You’re awfully judgmental for someone who agreed to a date with a man-boy called Euge.”
“Ugh. Naomi and Lina are going to have a field day with this,” I grumbled. Though it was hard to be grumpy with a plate full of ravioli.
“What are friends for if not making fun of us when we’re at our worst?” he philosophized.
“It’s not that. Well, not only that. They’re so smug about their happily ever afters.”
“So are Knox and Nash,” Lucian agreed. “It’s annoying.”
“When I meet my future husband, I’m going to have some dignity. I’m not going to get caught making out in public. And I certainly won’t be shoving the joys of monogamy down the throats of my single friends,” I said, plowing my way through the first pillowy, cheese-stuffed ravioli.
Though come to think of it, almost all my friends were in committed relationships. I frowned and chewed. When the hell had that happened? The endless parade of bridal showers, weddings, and baby showers had punctuated the past several years of my professional march toward library domination.
“I was supposed to meet Knox at Honky Tonk two weeks ago. I got there early and found Mr. and Mrs. Morgan climbing out of his pickup truck wearing only half their clothes,” Lucian said as he pulled a piece of bread in half.
I hid my laugh behind my napkin.
“I FaceTimed Lina from a store to ask her opinion on a jacket. She answered the phone from the shower. I got an eyeful of Nash Junior in the background.”
Lucian shook his head. “For future reference, when you’re on a date, you should refrain from discussing other men’s penises.”
I choked out a laugh. “Wow. Wednesday Afternoon Lucian could almost pass for human.”
His lips curved up ever so slightly. “If you spread that around, I’ll deny it.”
“Your secret is safe with me,” I said.
My statement had the effect of a record scratch. Lucian went very still, his eyes boring into mine, telling me what I already knew.
He had trusted me. Once. Just like I’d trusted him. Neither one of us had any intention of making the same mistake again.
I cleared my throat and focused on my plate.
Lucian sliced through a delicate piece of chicken with surgical precision. “Why are you so intent on finding a husband? Why now?”
“Can’t we just talk about the weather or something?” I asked.