Page 20

I’D RATHER PRETEND

VANESSA

I t was surreal. This whole thing was fucking surreal.

Never in a million years had she really believed Santino would come all the up to Montreal to play out his little catfish cockblock game.

Seeing him walk into the garden had spun her head inside out.

And she had to admit, the emotion that had welled up inside her to see his big, tall, familiar frame and his eyes lighting up when he saw her in turn was something suspiciously more like relief than anger. Maybe even a little…excitement?

But was she only kidding herself? If she really thought it was him, why had she kept “playing along” and given him the time and place to meet here in Montreal?

Had she really wanted to spend her time off work basking in her brother and sister-in-law’s perfect love while they fed each other grapes as jazz played in the background?

Was she prepared to slink off alone to an empty bed every evening while they sped off to their room like teens in love?

Fucking no. Now at least she’d have the safety of being part of a couple even if the other half was a complete pain in her ass and the ruin of all her plans.

Nevertheless, whatever shady motivations she kept trying to shove back into her subconscious, she still wasn’t going to forget what Santino had done that led to their breakup or the way he’d behaved for the past three years.

There was no forgetting how he’d run off Scott and, in the process, humiliated her.

He wasn’t going to win this. She couldn’t let him.

One week of dealing with him and I’m free. That alone was incentive enough to try to play nice. Just not too nice.

On the journey to pick up her things and check out of her small hotel on the outskirts of town, Santino was talkative, almost upbeat, as if they hadn’t just spent the last three years locked in a bitter battle of wills.

She didn’t have much to add to his commentary on new facts he’d discovered about Montreal on his way up, informing her of their loose itinerary.

“Tonight, we’ll go listen to some music after dinner. Tomorrow we’re going to see the light show at the cathedral. The guide says everybody needs to go at least once.”

“Uh-huh.”

She was only going to bide her time and count down until the first argument, which had usually happened on Day 2 on all their previous vacations.

If he needed to be reminded of why they probably should never have been married in the first place, she was going to let it play out.

She was absolutely confident that by the end of this week, he’d be sprinting to sign those papers.

“And here we are,” he announced as they pulled up to the hotel he’d somehow booked.

It turns out this place was downtown on Rue de la Montagne, not far from the café.

It was housed in a skyscraper that shot upward into the azure sky, reflecting all that joyful blue and milk-white clouds in its golden, mirrored surface.

She’d passed this place on the way to the café but hadn’t paid attention to the name affixed over the entryway in bold gold lettering: L’Hotel Li.

“Nonno’s friends again, I see,” she said, gesturing to the name as the valet came to take the car.

The Lis were an old, important Taiwanese family.

The Li Conglomerate operated several ventures, including a huge health and beauty brand, but they were best known for exclusive beach resorts and five-star urban hotels.

She and Santino had gotten married at a Li resort on Aruba, run by Nonno’s personal friend Wilson Li.

“Yup,” Santino answered with a grin. “This one is run by Wilson Li’s oldest grandson, Virgil. I called him when it looked like everything decent was gone, and he hooked us up with a room. You might like it.” He led her into the lobby and walked up to the front desk.

“Monsieur Donahue,” the attendant behind the desk greeted with a friendly smile. She checked them in and handed them two key cards. “Take the elevator at the end of the row. The suite is ready. Mrs. Donahue’s things will be up shortly.”

“It’s Ms. Watson, thank you,” she said cooly, suppressing her smile as Santino’s mouth flattened into a line of displeasure.

They were quiet in the elevator ride up to the fourteenth floor.

There were only four doors on this level, and they found theirs at the end of the hallway.

When Santino opened the door and stepped to the side to let her enter first, she did so and was immediately taken with what she saw.

They’d stayed in some amazing places, but this one was modern and gorgeous in a way she didn’t typically appreciate.

There was the entryway, which opened into what looked like a dining area with a cushioned bench and two chairs around a circular marble-topped table.

Dark hardwood flooring in a chevron pattern stretched into a second area that looked like a living room with a blush-colored velvet sofa facing dark coffee tables with glass tops, deep-set armchairs, and a flat-screen wall-mounted television.

“Where’s the bed? Is this a pullout couch?” she asked, staring at the dark bronze wall shelf containing glassware for wine and martinis.

“That couch doesn’t pull out. Neither will I,” he murmured.

“What did you say?” she asked, whipping around to look at him.

“I said I don’t think it’s a pull-out couch. The bedroom’s through there,” he said, pointing toward the right with his chin.

Vanessa decided she didn’t hear what she thought she had and went into the bedroom.

Dressers, marble-topped beside tables with glass lamps and white shades, another blush loveseat against the tall floor-to-ceiling windows.

All dimmed from view in comparison to the enormous bed in the center of the white and tan wallpapered room.

She huffed a short, derisive laugh at the duvet and the big hand-woven throw folded at the end. Both were white, soft, and inviting, fit for a blushing virginal bride. The ship had definitely sailed on that one.

“The bathroom is so cool. It’s got a seating area and a separate toilet,” he remarked. “I remember you saying you wish we had one.”

That was true. From Day 1 of their living together, Santino would make himself comfortable in the bathroom, leaving the door open so he could keep talking to her.

She didn’t mind that, but she did mind when he’d insisted on coming into the bathroom when it was her turn to use the commode.

He’d said couples shouldn’t care, that marriage meant seeing the real person, both the polished parts and the down-and-dirty.

She’d argued otherwise, wanting to keep some things private, but he barged in anyway.

Otherwise, it was nice. The sitting area was a room with a giant mirror, a counter for hair supplies and make-up, and a cushioned chair.

Nice. A vanity that was in its own space.

Beyond that, dark mahogany double doors led into the brown-tiled bathing area with a separate curving frosted-glass shower stall and a huge soaker tub.

“That’s dope. I love that,” she said, gesturing at the framed graffiti-style artwork of a naked statue on the wall beside the tub. The statue was white, but the rest of the painting was a deep, dramatic red and gold spray paint, the only pop of vivid color in the entire apartment.

“I thought so too,” Santino said. “I recognize the artist, Tenzin Wu. He’s got a show in a gallery in downtown Brooklyn right now. This one might end up in my luggage on the way out of here.”

A grin formed on her face of its own accord, despite her resolve to remain distant. One thing she’d always loved about him was how much he appreciated art. That had surprised her. She wondered if he still sketched in his downtime. He’d been pretty good at it.

Vanessa ran her hand over the dark gray marble of the bathroom counter and washed her hands in the deep sink with its pewter faucet and handles.

Sure enough, the toilet outfitted with a bidet was in its own room with yet another sink.

Now, at least she’d get her wish to use the toilet alone since the little room was too small for his big self to squeeze in with her.

“So…what do you think? A little better than our bathroom at home?” he asked, his eyes searching her face for her reaction.

She swallowed down the swell of pleasure and gratitude. Reminded herself that she was here because of the game he was playing.

“You mean my bathroom at home. It’s nice enough.”

Santino grinned, rolling his eyes before turning to the door when someone knocked. “Yeah, you love it.”

He went to let the bellhop in, who brought her bags to the bedroom.

Then he tipped him, and the young man left.

Then it was the two of them, alone. She turned to stare through the glass windows at the terrace and the cityscape beyond, feeling rather than seeing his movements in the room.

The air shifted, and she turned after taking a deep, steadying breath with her pulse racing to see he was behind her, holding out a bottle of water and still dressed.

She hadn’t been expecting that. The old Santino would have cracked open a bottle of champagne and stripped them both buck naked before anything else happened on a trip.

“We should get hydrated before we head back out later,” he said. “Drink up.”

“Um, okay.” Vanessa accepted the ice-cold bottle and uncapped it, swallowing a mouthful to cool off the sudden heat and confusion that had bloomed.

Had she wanted him to be naked and ready to start on that whoring bet? No.

She was relieved. Right?

Oh yes, very relieved.

Eyeing him, she drank more water then recapped it and set it down on a coaster. His eyes followed the gesture, and he grinned, then looked back up at her face.

“Okay. What now?” she asked.