“We agreed to split them.”
“No, you ‘suggested,’ we split them, didn’t take no for an answer, and then ate the lion’s share of each.”
“An exaggeration,” I retort.
Well, sort of an exaggeration. My pesto was one of the better things I’d ever put in my mouth, but his short rib ravioli gave it a definite run for its money.
“So,” he says, topping off both of our glasses from the bottle of Barolo he ordered for us to split. “How was your reunion with your first love?”
“The pasta?”
He surprises me with a grunt of a laugh. “No. Drew.”
“Oh, right,” I say, sipping the wine. “It was good to see him. Did you know he’s divorced now? That always makes me sad when people our age are divorced already. How does that happen?”
I wince when my brain catches up to my words. “I guess I’ll be joining the ranks in a couple of months, won’t I?”
Colin studies me. “Silver lining. Our divorce will free you up to rekindle things with Drew.”
Huh. The idea excites me not at all. Not that there’s anything wrong with Drew, but the truth is I haven’t put that much thought into what happens after this thing with Colin and I wraps up. I’ve avoided thinking about it, if I’m honest. Lately I’ve been feeling sort of itchy about my life in general, and for now, it’s been easier just to leave my future as one big question mark.
“I don’t think so,” I say aloud.
“Why not?”
I give an irritated huff that he’s pushing this. “I don’t know. No spark, I guess.”
Yes, Drew looked great. Yeah, he’d been funny and nice, and charming, and I have nothing but good memories of our time together. But whatever physical chemistry we’d once had is long gone, at least on my side.
“Plus,” I admit, “I guess in my head, I’m not really available.”
He shifts, looking uncomfortable with the train of conversation. “You mean because of our arrangement?”
“I guess. I mean, I know our situation is anything but typical, but it was easier to forget that I was technically married when I was in California. Here, everyone knows I’m married. Everyone knows you. And what’s really throwing me off is that some of these people seem to think we’re really, truly married.”
He gives me a sharp look. “What do you mean?”
“I spent nearly three hours today making small talk with some of the city’s biggest gossips. Were you aware that people think we’ve actually been married for real, and that we just have some really weird modern relationship where we only see each other on weekends?”
Colin flinches. “I may have let that rumor percolate. Deliberately.”
“Really?” I ask, fascinated. “Why?”
“To avoid suspicion over the motives of our marriage. My accent’s faded over the years, but there’s still no mistaking that I’m not from around here. The possibility that we’d marry for the sake of my green card isn’t a huge leap to make.”
“True. Though, I disagree on the accent. It’s faded a little, but it’s still very much there. And, for what it’s worth, it’s the one thing you had going on back then.”
“Excuse me?”
“Well, the beard and bun thing didn’t work for me when we got married, and I thought you were super nerdy, but even I could admit that the accent caused a few flutters.” I glare down at my glass, realizing it’s making me admit things I probably shouldn’t. “Damn you, wine.”
“Very deep thoughts, Charlotte,” Colin says dryly.
I shrug. “I never pretended to be deep.”
“No, you don’t pretend, do you?” he says thoughtfully.
“Um, I’ve pretended to be married for a decade. I’d say I’m pretty good at it.”
“Yes, but like you said, that was easier when you were in California. It wasn’t a daily charade you had to keep up. Tonight you were jumpy. You don’t like lying, and you don’t like pretense.”
“No argument there,” I say. “I hate having to lie about our domestic bliss. About the reasons I’m back here.”
“Two more months,” he says quietly. “Then we can file for divorce and end this chapter of our lives.”
“Yeah. And then what?” I ask, more to myself than him.
“You go back to California,” he says, though there’s a slight question in his voice.
“Right,” I say automatically, because that is the plan. Or at least it’s been the plan.
But for some reason, the thought doesn’t click quite as well as it should.
Chapter 15
Saturday, September 5
Since I’ve been in New York, I haven’t been putting my phone on Do Not Disturb when I go to bed, wanting to be available for my team while I’m in a different time zone.
A fact I regret when my cell rings way too early the next morning. I blindly grope for it on the nightstand, eyes still closed as I swipe to access the call.
“Yeah. Hello?”
“You ratted me out to Dad?”
My eyes fly open at the sound of my brother’s voice, and I sit upright. “Justin?”
“Hey, Charlie.”
“What time is it?” I pull the phone away from my ear. “Oh my God, six? On a Saturday? What is wrong with you?”
“It’s noon here.”
“And what, you couldn’t do the math?” I gripe, shoving my hair out of my face.
“You’ve called me about a hundred times in the past couple of weeks. I thought you’d be happy I called.”
“Ah ha! So you have been seeing my calls,” I accuse.
“And may I just say, God bless Caller ID.”
“You’ve been screening me! Your only sister!”
“It’s because you’re my only sister that I know you well enough to know that you needed some time to cool off. But obviously, you’re still peeved if you told Dad about the prenup.”
“Peeved?” I say in disbelief. “Just, you do realize that your prenup shenanigans required me to leave my company, fly across the country, move in with a stranger, live with him for three months, all so that I can become a divorcée?”
“In my defense—”
“Really? Is there a defense?”
“In my defense,” he continued, “I never imagined you two idiots would stay married for ten years without ever seeing each other in the meantime.”
“What did you envision?” I ask skeptically.
“That maybe some forced proximity would make you realize you two were good together.”
My mouth drops open. “You were matchmaking? I thought you were just being a stupid jerk. I can’t decide which is worse.”
“I was being stupid, yes,” he admits. “Can we please remember that I was twenty-four, had passed the bar exactly four days prior, and I wasn’t exactly at the height of professional maturity? But a jerk? Honestly, Charlie, in my head I swear I thought I was doing a good thing.”
“By forcing me to live with a mute who hates my guts?”