Dream Lake (Friday Harbor #3)(60)

“I got a bottle of Chianti,” Darcy said, rummaging in the drawer for a bottle opener.

“None for me, thanks.”

She cast a surprised glance over her shoulder. “You’re joking, right?”

The ghost, who was sitting on one of the counters with his long legs dangling, asked rhetorically, “Since when does he joke about anything?”

“I just don’t feel like it tonight,” Alex said to Darcy, and sent the ghost a hard glance.

“Okay,” the ghost said, easing off the counter, sauntering away. “I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone.”

Darcy took two wineglasses from the cabinet, filled them both, and brought them to the table. “Amanda says we need to make the house look warmer. It’s going to be easy, since the house is already uncluttered and everything is in neutrals. She’s going to bring colorful pillows for the sofa, some silk trees, centerpieces for the tables, things like that.”

Alex looked at the glass of Chianti, the liquid glowing pomegranate red. He remembered the taste of it, dry and violety. It had been weeks since he’d had a drink. One glass of wine wouldn’t hurt. People drank wine with dinner all the time.

He reached for the glass but didn’t pick it up, only ran his fingertips along the smooth circular base of the stem. He pushed it away an inch.

Dragging his gaze to Darcy’s face, he focused on what she was saying. She was talking about her latest promotion—she was a marketing communications manager for a massive software company, and she had just been put in charge of the internal business group newsletter, which would go out to thousands of people.

“Good for you,” Alex said. “I think you’ll be great at it.”

She grinned at him. “You almost sound like you mean it.”

“I do. I’ve always wanted you to be successful.”

“That’s news to me.” She drank deeply of her wine. Extending a long leg, she rested her foot on his thigh. Delicately her toes began to burrow into his lap. “Have you been with anyone?” she asked. “Since our last time?”

He shook his head and caught her wiggling foot, keeping it still.

“You need to let off steam,” Darcy said.

“No, I’m fine.”

A disbelieving smile touched her lips. “You’re not trying to turn me down, are you?”

Alex found himself reaching for his wineglass, his fingers closing lightly around the gleaming bowl. He cast a wary glance around the kitchen, but the ghost was nowhere to be seen. Lifting the glass, he took a sip, and the flavor of wine filled his mouth. He closed his eyes briefly. It was a relief. It promised that he would feel better soon. He wanted more. He wanted to guzzle it without pausing for breath.

“I’ve met a woman,” he said.

Darcy’s eyes narrowed. “You’re interested in her?”

“Yes.” It was the truth, not to mention the biggest understatement of his life. But of course he had no intention of doing anything about it.

“She doesn’t have to know,” Darcy said.

“I would know.”

Darcy’s voice was coolly mocking. “You want to be faithful to a woman you haven’t even had sex with yet?”

Alex carefully pushed her foot from his lap. He looked at her, really looked at her for the first time in a while, noticing a flicker of something … unhappiness, loneliness. It reminded him of the reluctant compassion he’d felt when Zoë had told him what it had been like to be let down by her husband.

Darcy had been let down by a husband, too. By him.

Alex wondered how it could have been so easy to make vows he had never intended to keep. Neither of them had, but it hadn’t seemed to matter to Darcy any more than it had to him. It should have mattered, he thought.

With an effort, he poured the wine into the sink and set the glass aside. The fragrance spilled into the air, fruit and tannin and oblivion.

“Why did you do that?” he heard Darcy ask.

“I’ve stopped drinking.”

She looked incredulous. Her brows lowered. “For God’s sake, one glass of wine won’t hurt.”

“I don’t like who I am when I’m drinking.”

“I don’t like who you are when you’re not drinking.”

He smiled without amusement.

“What’s going on?” Darcy demanded. “Why are you pretending to be someone you’re not? I know you better than anyone. I’ve lived with you. Who is this woman you’re seeing? Is she a Mormon or Quaker or something?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“This is bullshit,” Darcy said, but somewhere in the snapping tension of her voice, he heard a bewildered note. He felt more compassion for her in that moment than he had in the sum total of their marriage. Once he’d read or heard something to the effect that it was never too late to save a relationship. But that wasn’t true. Sometimes too much damage had been done. There was an invisible line of “too late” in a marriage, and after it had been crossed, the relationship would never thrive.

“I’m sorry,” he said, watching her drain a glass of wine the way he’d wanted to a few moments earlier. “You got a raw deal, marrying me.”

“I got the house,” she reminded him smartly.