Finding Isadora(127)

“Day? That’s unusual.” She studied his face. “Is it Asian? There’s something about your features, your coloring.”

He took the opening she’d offered. “My dad’s mother was Chinese.” He pushed up his left sleeve to reveal the Chinese-style dragon tattoo that wrapped around his bicep. Then he picked up his champagne glass. “Let’s drink a toast to—” He was about to finish with, “getting rid of Carmen,” when a voice, male this time, spoke from over his shoulder.

“Did I hear you tell the flight attendant you’re getting married?”

Startled, Damien almost dropped his glass. He turned to see the older man from across the aisle—who looked too young to be a great-grandpa, with his thick silver hair and bright blue eyes—standing beside him. “Er, yes, that’s correct.” Correct that he’d said it, at least.

“Many congratulations.” The bright eyes went soft, a little misty. “Best day of my life when I married Delia. Every day’s been a blessing.”

A snort came from behind him. “I’ll quote you on that, Trev, next time you’re whingeing about the way I cook your eggs.”

The man turned and Damien could see his wife, a crochet hook in her hand and a bundle of yellow wool beside the champagne glass on her tray. Her eyes were blue too, and twinkling above wire-rimmed reading glasses she’d shoved down her nose.

“Better than having to cook my own eggs, isn’t it?” the man retorted with a grin, and made his way up the aisle in the direction of the lavatories.

“Want some advice?” the woman—Delia—asked Damien.

“Er…”

Theresa leaned past him, arm brushing his, a hint of mischief in her voice when she said, “Yes, please.”

“Don’t hold a grudge and don’t go to bed angry. It festers if you do that. Even if you’re furious with the other person, ask yourself, would your life be better without them? If the answer’s yes, then climb out of that bed and leave. If the answer’s no, give them a big kiss. Talk about what’s gone wrong, make up, and get over it and move on.”

Damien grinned at her. “Sounds like wise advice.”

“It does.” Theresa’s voice sounded a little sad, and he wondered if she was thinking about her own marriage. Had it been her or her hubby who’d climbed out of that bed? Did she regret it? She’d said she didn’t intend to get married again. Was that because she was disillusioned with men, skeptical about marriage, or still in love with her ex?

“How long have you been married?” Theresa asked the older woman. “If you have a great-grandchild, it must be going on fifty years?”

“Ha! Trev and I are almost newlyweds. We married two years ago. The family in Vancouver is mine from my first marriage.”

“Well, congratulations,” Theresa said. “On the new addition to the family, and on finding happiness a second time around.”

“Thanks. And best of luck to the two of you.” She pushed her glasses up and went back to crocheting something so tiny it was clearly for the baby.

Damien turned to Theresa and raised his glass again. “To a happy wedding, and a happy marriage,” he said loudly. Then he mouthed, “For your sister.”

“I’ll drink to that.” She touched her glass to his.

They both took a swallow, then she said softly, “I want to ask you something.”

Had she put two and two together about his name? Warily, he said, “What?”

She glanced past him. “Can anyone overhear us?”

He shook his head. “Not if we speak quietly. The seats are too far apart, and the cocoon effect insulates them. What’s your question?”

“What did Carmen do wrong?”

“Huh?”

“You were flirting, encouraging her. Then you decided you weren’t interested. What did she do?”

“Her? Nothing. It was you.” What the hell, why not go with honesty?

“Me? I don’t follow. And how did you know my name, anyway?”

“All work makes Theresa a dull girl? You said that, remember? Anyhow, I don’t think you’re dull. Fact is, I’m more interested in you than in her.”