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He said it so confidently that Val had to cover her mouth with a hand, stifling the laugh that burbled forth. When he smiled, it was like the sun coming out after a storm. She knew it was real and involuntary because it made fine lines fan out of the corners of his eyes, as if he were a man who laughed often.
“Well?”
Why shouldn’t she? Why shouldn’t she give him some harmless nugget of information that would help him—and more importantly, prolong the conversation?
She did want to prolong the conversation, didn’t she, despite that horribly awkward exchange a few moments ago? He was still very close to her, and looking at her keenly, as if he were trying to find the key to a puzzle. It was an oddly penetrating look that made her grope awkwardly for the champagne flute.
“We’re drinking now?” Desmond asked, rather triumphantly.
“One glass,” she allowed.
“What’s your choice?”
“I don’t care.” She eased the death grip on her handbag and took a deep breath. She was having a drink at the Royal Opera House in the Champagne Bar with a man as rich as Croesus while her sixteen-year-old charge was presumably dancing to K-pop inside. She must be in a fever dream.
“ID, please!”
The bartender’s voice startled her. She fumbled in her bag, identified the slim rectangle, and pushed it forward. The pigtailed woman squinted at it, then at her, then returned it with a straight face.
“Happy birthday, Valentina!” she said chirpily, and poured, then disappeared. She felt heat shoot up to her cheeks. Desmond was staring at her, as if seeing her for the first time.
“Valentina?” he said, and that was all it took. His low voice curved around the syllables of her name. If calling herMs. Montgomerygave her butterflies, then using her full name made a quiver go up from her tummy to her throat.
She jerked as if she’d been burned. “Don’t call me that!”
“Shecalled you that.”
“It’s on my ID, that’s why.” Damn the bartender and her presumption. Val took a large sip from her glass to bolster herself. She registered icy cold first, then bubbles burst on her tongue with a delightful apple-like crispness. She closed her eyes for a second and wished Desmond gone. When she opened her eyes he was looking at her curiously.
“It’s a beautiful name,” he said with that odd gentleness that occasionally characterized his speech. She pressed her knees together so hard it hurt.
“It’s ridiculously sentimental,” she said tightly. “My father named me that because I was due on—”
“Valentine’s Day! Of course!” Now he sounded a bit amused. “And it’s the sixteenth. You missed it by a hair.”
“I suppose I did.”
“Do you really hate the name that much?”
“I don’thateit, I just…” She used toloveit, actually. She used to think it was elegant and old-fashioned and a little romantic, just like her. She’d liked the association with what had once been her favorite holiday. Butnow…
Well. Life had been diligent about showing her how dangerous sentiment and romance could be, hadn’t it? And the name she’d once loved mocked her whenever she heard it.
“Val is easier to pronounce than Valentina where I live,” she said. It wasn’t quite the truth, but it was close enough. “It’s Val now.”
“Ithink your full name suits you much better,” he declared.
“Ithink whatyouthink matters little in this case,” she said acidly.
Irritatingly, the man wasn’t put off. Instead, he topped off her glass and offered a half smile. “And it’s your birthday. Valentina,” he said, as if testing out the name.
There it was, again, that liquid fissure beginning to creep between her thighs. “Don’t call me that,” she said automatically, burying her nose in her glass, although her voice was perhaps not as sharp as she’d intended.
When she resurfaced, he was gazing at her thoughtfully. “I’m sorry. This is a dreadful way to celebrate, isn’t it?”
She shrugged. “It’s not as if I had any other plans.”
“Oh, that’s too–”