“So what’s this one doing here?” She took another mouthful. He was watching her with the same degree of caution he might have shown an unexploded bomb.
“I was keeping it for a special occasion.”
“Doesn’t get much more special than this. It’s not every day a girl finds out she’s a murderer. It’s not exactly the career I had mapped out for myself and I’m not sure my grandmother would be proud, but I believe in celebrating every little thing. I hope I’m good at what I do. Am I?” She drained the glass and thumped it back down on the counter.
He winced. “You shouldn’t drink that so fast. You’ll get a headache.”
“I’ll drink it any damn way I like and you can watch me do it.”
“This isn’t like you.”
“Maybe it is. Maybe this is the side of me you haven’t seen before. You’re the one who is always telling me people have other sides to them. You think because I’m optimistic and like to see the best in people that makes me weak? You thought I wouldn’t dare open your superexpensive wine? Think again, Lucas.” She sloshed more wine into the glass. “How much is this bottle worth?”
He named a figure that almost made her drop the bottle, but she tightened her grip. “Right. Then I’d better savor every mouthful.”
“You’re not planning on sharing it?”
“No. You’re going to watch me drink it, and that is as close as I am ever going to get to torturing someone. And it’s the closest I’m going to get to satisfaction.”
His gaze was wary. “What do you mean?”
“I liked you, Lucas.” Her hand shook on the bottle. “I really liked you. And I thought—never mind what I thought. I was stupid. You can put that in your book if you like. Might as well get the facts down.”
“If you’re implying that our sleeping together had something to do with my book, then you’re a million miles from the truth.”
“Really? And yet we haven’t had sex since. So either you didn’t enjoy it, or you got what y
ou wanted, and—”
“Eva—”
“I don’t want to hear it. Truly.”
“The book has nothing to do with why we haven’t had sex since that night.”
“Save it. From now on I’m not saying a single word because that way you can’t use what I say for evidence, or characterization, or—” She waved the bottle. “Or other nefarious gains. Nefarious. You see? I know words other than nice and fine. Are you impressed?”
“I think you probably need to stop drinking.”
“Don’t tell me what I need. Are you suggesting I can’t hold my alcohol? Because I’ll have you know I could drink you under the table.” She swayed and just about managed to stay upright. “Screw you, Lucas. Oh wait, I already did that.” Deciding to exit while she could still walk without falling over, she scooped up the wine and stomped up the stairs, slamming the bedroom door behind her.
Fourteen
A good friend is cheaper than therapy.
—Frankie
The following morning Lucas was downstairs before Eva was.
She finally emerged, holding tightly to the banister as she walked down the stairs, as if the slightest movement caused her pain. Judging from the look she sent in his direction she didn’t seem any more inclined to forgive him than she had the night before.
He took one look at her pale face and opened the drawer where he kept medicines. “Painkiller?” He held out the packet, but she ignored him.
“My head is perfectly fine. I’ve told you, I can hold my drink.”
He knew she was lying but she didn’t hang around for a discussion.
She walked away and came back moments later carrying her coat and hat.