Part-Time Lover (Part-Time Lover #1)(58)

“You know he’s only half Viking, right?”

She waves her free hand dismissively. “The babies would be one quarter Viking, one quarter Brit, one quarter French, one quarter American, and one hundred percent awesome.” She squeals as she stirs. “And you’d be so cute pregnant. An adorable little creature waddling around in your cute glasses and hot skirts.”

I shoot her an admonishing stare. “You’re not helping.”

“Oh, sorry. Did you want me to say ‘I told you so’ again? Would that help?” She adopts a too-perfect smile.

“No.”

Setting down the spoon, she gives me a stern stare, but softens her voice. “Then what do you need? Elise, you married him. You were and are attracted to him. You learned he’s brilliant and wonderful, and you have feelings for him. Do you think he reciprocates?”

An image of Christian over me, his crystal-blue eyes gazing into mine, blasts before me. An involuntary fleet of tingles spreads down my body. Then, as I think about how he talks to me, how he treats me, my heart turns warm, like it’s radiating in my chest. “Just because he makes me feel all soft inside, and just because he likes to spend time with me, doesn’t mean there’s anything deeper.”

“Or does it? Maybe it means you can date your husband.”

I furrow my brow. “Date my husband?”

“Yes. Date him. Keep going. Screw the expiration date. Just keep on keeping on with him even when the deal expires.”

I suppose that’s a possibility. We could always finish the job, so to speak, but keep working overtime. Of course, that assumes he wants to, and I’ve no idea if he does.

My phone rings, and I grab it from my purse. Nate called earlier, asking me to move my flight up to tomorrow, so I did. Maybe it’s him again. But I don’t recognize the number. In case it’s a prospective new client, I answer quickly. “Hello, this is Elise.”

“Elise, this is Diana. I’m in town, and I have something that I believe is yours.”

The other wife’s voice shoots me to another time, as my past shoves itself into my present.





32





Christian





“And that’s why there are so many sundials in Paris. Thank you for joining me today.”

Griffin says farewell to the tour group he’s led around the city, showing them some of the curiosities of Paris, from the oldest clock in France to a handful of sundials.

I sneaked onto the tail end. As the crowd disperses, I thrust a hand in the air. “But can you show me another one, please?”

Griffin huffs and gives me an annoyed look. “Did you come here to heckle me?”

“Always. You need hecklers. It makes me happy.”

“You need a job.”

“I have a job. I’m busy constantly,” I say, since tomorrow I’m working for a Danish investor who’s in Paris to meet with some potential French business partners.

“Yet, you found time to heckle me. Or did you come to ask me for advice?” he asks as we walk toward the river.

“Impressive how you’d assume I need your advice rather than your company for a drink, you wanker. We’re supposed to be getting a beer.”

He laughs. “I never forget beer.”

But as we head to the pub, I soldier myself for the true reason I wanted to meet for a pint. “What would you say if I told you that you were right about mixing business with pleasure?”

He laughs as we turn the corner. “Of course I’m right. I’m an excellent judge of everything.”

“So, this woman I’m married to . . .”

“Wait, wait. Don’t tell me. Let me guess.” He stops in his tracks, flings his hand over his forehead, and closes his eyes. “You fell for her.”

When he opens them, I shake my head. “Thanks for taking my punchline, tosser. Want to remind me that you warned me about this?”

“If memory serves, you said, and I quote, ‘We aren’t mixing business with pleasure. We’re uniting for two mutual goals.’”

“That sounds like something I’d say.”

Griffin claps me on the back. “I like keeping you around because you’re so incredibly entertaining. But listen, you’re not going to crush her heart, are you?”

“No. Remember when I said she’d break mine?”

He stops once more. His voice drops lower, etched with concern. “Yeah? Has she?”

“Seems destined to happen. She doesn’t want anything serious. She’s made that clear.”

He frowns. “She has?”

“Crystal clear from the start.”

“And you do? Want something more?”

I nod. “I want so much more.”

“Then I clearly owe you a pint because that’s a sad story.”

We walk in silence for a bit till we reach our favorite pub. As he pulls open the door, Griffin says, “On the other hand, you could lay it out there for her.”

I knit my brow.

He grabs at his chest as if reaching inside. “Take your heart and serve it up on a platter—and hope to hell she doesn’t chop it into mincemeat.”

I laugh, but it’s a sullen sound. Knowing Elise, that’d send her scurrying over her fortified walls into a whole new kind of retreat.