“I’m not good at following rules either,” he says and then continues before giving me a chance to speak. “Sounds like a speedy path to the altar.”
“What can I say? When Bennett wants something, he wastes no time in claiming it.”
When our waitress returns, I watch as she nervously makes eyes with Declan while she serves our food. I laugh and he takes notice, shaking his head.
“See what I mean?” I ask after she walks off.
“Does that bother you?”
“Why would it bother me?” I question and pick up my fork to cut a piece of my pancake.
“Then why even mention it?”
“Circles, Declan. We’re doing it again,” I say and then take a bite of the granola-filled pancake as he watches.
“Okay, no circles. You have any kids?”
“No.”
“Do you want kids?”
“I can’t have kids, so it doesn’t really matter what I want.”
He takes a pause, not expecting that answer, and then asks, “Why can’t you have kids?”
“That’s none of your business,” I tell him and then take another sip of coffee.
“Do you love him?”
Swallowing hard, I clarify, “My husband?”
“Yes.”
He takes a bite of his eggs as I straighten my back and look him dead on. “Your assumption that there could be a possibility of more than one answer is offensive.”
I notice the slight upward turn of the corner of his mouth, and he holds his stare for a beat before saying, “Funny how you chose not to answer that question, but instead, avoid.”
“Of course I love him.”
Lie.
“So he’s it?”
I hesitate, making sure he takes notice, and then respond with a simple, “Yes,” careful to ensure a slight tremble in my voice.
He catches my subtleties as he keeps his eyes pinned on me and I shift, playing uncomfortable, and I’m certain he buys it when he changes the subject. We spend the rest of our meal in idle chitchat about nothing in particular, and as we leave and walk towards his car, my foot hits a patch of ice, unsteadying my balance. Declan’s hands are on me fast as I shuffle and land my back against the side of his car. He’s close. Chest to chest. Foggy vapors escaping us with each breath. I don’t speak or move away. I wonder if he’s going to make a play, because I can tell he’s thinking about it. But putting thoughts into action takes balls, and I’m hoping he has them.
In a low voice, he urges, “Push me away, Nina,” as if he’s testing me.
But I’m the one doing the testing; he just doesn’t know it. So I respond with, “Why?”
“Because you love your husband.”
Pushing my hands against him, I move him away from me as I say, annoyed, “I do love him.”
As if no exchange was just made, he opens the door for me to get in.
When we pull onto the main street, he asks, “Where do you live?”
“Why?”
“Because I’m gonna drive you home,” he says, turning his head to look at me.
“The Legacy.”
The silence between us is noticeable, and I wonder what he’s thinking about, but I don’t dare ask. He doesn’t allow my thoughts to overtake me when he turns on the stereo. I can tell he’s using the music to distract himself as he keeps his eyes focused on the road. I’m granted no reprieve as I consider the thoughts that are scrolling through his head right now. But this part is out of my hands because I won’t push. The fall has to come of his own accord. I’m merely the fuel that feeds the vehicle; he’s the one driving it. And the destination is up to him.
When he pulls up to my building, he shifts the gear into park and looks over at me. He hasn’t spoken for the whole drive, and he remains quiet. Wanting to calm any of the ill thoughts he may be having, I lean back against the seat and let out a sigh as I roll my head over to look at him.
Our eyes are locked, his hands still on the steering wheel, and then I say in a soft voice, free from any undertones, “I had a nice time with you.” Declan nods, unconvinced, so I give him a little more to coax him, adding, “I don’t have many friends.”
When I say this, his hands drop slowly to his lap as he turns slightly towards me. He then asks, “What about those two hundred people on the guest list for the event you’re planning?”
“If it weren’t for Bennett, those people wouldn’t give me a second glance. I wouldn’t want them to though.”
“Why not?”
“Because they’re nothing like me.”
“How so?”
Lowering my head to focus on my hands, I don’t respond immediately.
“Tell me, Nina.”
My eyes meet his when I say, with a faint shake of my head, “I guess I’m still trying to figure that out.”
“And your husband?” he questions.
“He doesn’t know this. He thinks I enjoy the lunch dates with the wives when I really loathe them.”
“Then why even bother?”
Letting go of a deep breath, I say, “Because I want to make my husband happy.”