Part-Time Lover (Part-Time Lover #1)(59)

But as Griffin heads inside, I stop at the door, thinking of the other night, the things we said.

What if she feels the same? What if she’s starting to figure out that this marriage of convenience has turned, unexpectedly, into something more?

I need to give her time. I need to give her the chance to figure out what I’ve already learned: we could be more than a deal.

That’s what I need to do for the rest of the arrangement. Treat her like a queen and listen for any sign that she might be on the same page as I am.

Then, seize the chance.



*

Later that evening, I’m working late at my home. Erik and I have finished a new deal, and it’s coming together beautifully. But it requires a fine attention to detail, and I’m this close to exhausted from reading contracts most of the day.

Erik jumps up from the table where we’re working. He paces the living room, muttering.

I glance up from the screen on his fifth lap across the carpet. “You okay?”

“I can’t believe she tracked you down at the game the other day,” he says, disgust thick in his voice. I’d told him what happened at the match. “I can’t believe she’s inserting herself into everything.”

“Don’t let it get to you,” I say gently, as I tap the screen. “Let’s try to finish this off.”

He shoves his hands into his hair. “I can’t focus. The more I think about it, the angrier I get. I’m so bloody ticked off.”

His jaw is tight, and his eyes are fiery. It’s a look I hardly ever see on my brother. “Erik, come on. Let’s focus on this, order some takeaway, and watch a stupid show.”

He shakes his head vigorously. “I can’t. I need to go for a run.” He darts into the guest room where he’s been staying and emerges a minute later with running shorts and trainers on. He heads to the door in a flurry. “I’ll work when I come back. I need to clear my head. See Elise, or whatever you want to do.”

He leaves, and I hunker down, finishing the read-through. When I’m done, I decide seeing Elise sounds brilliant, especially since she’s leaving for New York soon.

I text her, but she writes back and tells me she’s busy tonight.

Somehow, this bothers me more than it should.





33





Elise





What does one wear to have a drink with her former sister-wife?

That’s a question you won’t find in most etiquette guides.

As I peruse my closet, I opt for a skirt and a sleeveless top. It’s July, and it’s hot in this city.

I stare at my reflection. Should I wear my hair up or down? What’s the proper hairstyle for having drinks with the woman who shared the same man with you, unbeknownst to each other?

But it doesn’t matter how I wear my hair. Tonight isn’t about the odd connection we share. Tonight isn’t about him.

It’s about what she found of mine, and I can’t wait.



*

I’m laughing so hard I’m crying.

“Oh God, stop. You have to stop,” I say between breaths at the café. “I can’t take it anymore.”

My one-time sister-wife runs a hand through her thick brown hair as she tells me a story about a book she just acquired at the publishing house she oversees in Barcelona. It’s a collection of essays about men who love cats. It’s absurd and the sheer absurdity is cracking us up. “And the best thing about men who love cats is they have learned to respect your moods. What could be better training for moods than a feline?”

I chuckle as I lift my glass of red, returning to the last time I had drinks with her. It was like discovering I had a long-lost twin. We’d compared notes about all the strange things we’d had in common our whole lives. Now, we’re talking about cats, and work, and life. Diana feels like she could be a friend, if she lived in town. “So, how are you doing? Are you well?”

A smile spreads on her face as she takes a drink of iced tea. “Yes, and I’m getting married again.”

My jaw drops. “Seriously?”

She pats her belly. “The reason I ordered no wine tonight? I’m three months pregnant.”

I reach across the tiny table and give her a hug. “Congratulations! I'm so happy for you. What’s he like?”

With a wry smile, Diana lifts a brow and whispers sardonically, “He’s honest.”

We both crack up.

“He also likes cats, but not so much he’d write an essay about them.”

“That’s excellent. That’s all you really need.”

She raises her index finger. “Honesty, chemistry, and a loyalty to felines that’s in line with my own. We have all those in spades.”

“I’ll drink double for both of us, then.”

“What about you? Have you met anyone? I see you have a ring,” she says, as if it’s a secret I’m waiting to spill.

And it kind of is.

I stare at my wedding band, and on the surface, the story is too crazy to tell. But those details aren’t what matter most. It’s what’s behind them. “I met someone, and he’s wonderful. He makes me happy in a way I didn’t think I could be happy again. But sometimes I’m scared to fully surrender to the way I feel for him,” I admit, taking a deep breath. “How did you let go of the fear?”