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He unleashed a Grinch grin that instantly reminded me of that Tim Curry scene inHome Alone 2.
“Enough with the games, Manoj,” I stated in a cool voice. “I’m running out of patience.”
“You know, you could at least be grateful to me,” he argued, dropping the menu on the table as the server came for our drinks order.
“Get us your finest red,” Manoj delivered the line straight from a movie.
I suppressed a snort. If he knew me at all, if he had paid even the slightest bit of attention, he’d know I preferred white. But that was the thing about such men. They didn’t care about others. The only person they saw was themselves. He wasn’t Sujit.
An untimely softness surged through me at the thought of that kind, gorgeous man. I couldn’t wait to see his handsome face and the reassuring smile that ended in two perfect divots in his cheek.
The door opened again, and my eyes drew to the party walking in. For a moment, I wondered if it was a figment of my imagination. If I had somehow summoned Sujit with my sheer willpower. He was walking in behind the maître d’. With himwas Devi and a young girl, who appeared to be Devi’s daughter. She chirped something to Sujit, and he gave her the smile that I was just daydreaming about.
Our very visible table meant that he saw me too. Our eyes met, and his smile broadened. But one look at my companion, and he stilled. With a quick nod, he asked if I wanted him to come over. With just my eyes, I conveyed I had this covered. Another nod at my conviction, and he turned his attention to the girl.
This was the fucking connection I’d been waiting for all my life. And like hell I was going to give it up without a fight. Manoj was a non-entity; I’d fight the gods for Sujit.
While the maître d’ pulled a chair for Devi, Sujit did so for the girl and handed their coats to a wait staff who had appeared at their table.
Manoj followed my gaze. “Well, well,” he said. “Our secret is out now.” He cast his Grinch grin again.
“What secret is that?” I marshaled my cool and sipped the water from the goblet on the table.
“You and me at this table,” he said as the server returned with the wine, a fine Malbec.
I patiently waited as they went through the tired routine of sampling and okaying the wine. I was tempted to say something about not being fond of red, but I bit my tongue.
“Here’s to you, Aarti. The fabulous woman that you are,” he said, raising his glass at me.
I sipped mine without a word. It wasn’t a bad wine. A bit heavy but very good. A nice mouthful with notes of plum and sweet tobacco. Certainly a wine that someone like Manoj would choose. But then, he didn’t choose it, did he? He let the restaurant do it for him. He couldn’t even be trusted to pick a good wine for himself.
Sujit, on the other hand, knew exactly what he wanted. Like the scotch he chose at our first meeting. My eyes drew to Sujit and Manoj’s were glued to me.
“What is the deal with the two of you?” he finally asked.
“What did you want to talk about, Manoj? I really don’t like the idea of being threatened like this.”
His eyes widened with a dramatic flair. “Threatened?” Then he shook his head with the same vehement theatrics and added, “No, you’ve got it all wrong, Aarti. I’m worried about you.”
“Worried about what?”
He hesitated for effect, as if he had planned it. Then, placing the wine glass back on the table, said, “I know about you and Sujit. About your connection.”
He used the same word that had been stated in the tabloid. I frowned. “What connection?”
He let out an exasperated breath as I continued to deny him the pleasure of what he sought. Flustering me.
“I know you’re Tara’s husband’s ex-fiancée.”
“So?” I returned a quizzical frown again.
“I know you both are hiding it from your families and from the world.”
“There’s nothing to hide,” I replied in a calm voice, even as every word from his mouth infuriated me.
“Then you wouldn’t mind if these pictures made their way to the news, would you?”
He placed an envelope near him on the table. I didn’t reach out to grab it like he wanted me to. That seemed to irk him further.