The host seats us in a booth and hands us menus. Since I’m hungry and I’d rather be eating if I’m going to have an unpleasant conversation, I study the offerings for the day.
Our server shows up almost immediately. I order the pescatore lunch special that comes with seafood pasta, garlic toast and salad, plus a tall glass of lemonade. Edgar only asks for a glass of Coca-Cola. It’s late, so he’s probably already had his lunch.
When we’re alone again, I sip the water quickly, then switch to lemonade when our server brings it. Edgar doesn’t touch his Coke. He’s merely looking at me like he can’t decide between kissing me or strangling me, so I decide to satisfy my curiosity first.
“So. What did you mean when you said Aaron doesn’t need to marry me? He was so insistent yesterday. I don’t think my puking on him changed that.”
“You’re having morning sickness?” Edgar asks, immediately concerned.
Is that what he got out of what I just said? “No. I’m pretty sure it was the way he smelled. I felt fine after breakfast and dinner yesterday. My stomach’s fine right now, too.”
He crosses his legs, taps his fingers on the table a few times, then abruptly stops. “I thought we had an understanding. I take care of him; you move in with me for four months.”
Now I wish I were a turtle so I could pull my head into my shell. He doesn’t sound angry, exactly, but I’m nervous about this overly calm reaction—nervous and slightly ashamed that I decided to go ahead with the ceremony without telling anyone. In my defense, I didn’t think Edgar w
ould be able to fix things so fast…or that he could do it at all. My plan was to delay the wedding until Papa retired, then dump Aaron. Or just improvise as Aaron changed his mind about things, that fickle bastard.
“Were you going to tell me about your decision to alter the plan?” Edgar asks.
His tone isn’t particularly accusing. But it’s making me feel worse. I wasn’t trying to lie or anything, although from his expression, I might as well have defrauded him.
My defenses go up like the Great Wall of China. “Look, he ambushed me yesterday.”
“And I gave you my number so you could get in touch anytime,” he says. “An ambush would be an excellent reason to call.”
I purse my lips, feeling guilty and stupid. Edgar’s surprisingly good at yelling without raising his voice.
Since he deserves the full truth, I tell him what Aaron did—and how rapidly he decided to jump to Plan B if I didn’t do as he asked. “I didn’t think I had a choice. My situation isn’t something most people can solve overnight, and I didn’t want you to do anything illegal and get into trouble.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “Illegal…?”
“You know…like beating him up,” I say. “Or, I don’t know, breaking into his home and stealing his phone, laptop and tablet and…and things. Anything he could’ve used to back up the video.”
Edgar stares at me like I’m mentally challenged. “You should’ve had more faith in me.”
Maybe I should have. Edgar has continued to surprise me with things I didn’t expect him to do. He even managed to not get killed by my brothers and cousins after telling everyone how he got me pregnant, which is saying something. None of my exes would’ve survived something like that.
“How did you do it?” I want to know if the solution was something utterly obvious that I missed.
“I have connections.”
“Connections?” I repeat, confused.
“Yes. They’re surprisingly useful, even if they did fail to impress your family.”
Wow. Overly sensitive much? Who would’ve thought Mr. Control holds on to grudges? I start to open my mouth to tease him, then shut it when our waiter shows up with the food. I start eating, but then something else occurs to me.
“What kind of connections do you have with Aaron?” I ask. “You didn’t act like you really know him.”
“I had lunch with his grandfather,” Edgar says. “He and my family have had some business dealings. I made sure Aaron attended as well. It wasn’t that difficult to convince him to stop bugging you after I preemptively announced that you’re the woman I plan to marry in front of his grandfather.”
My jaw drops, but I shouldn’t be so shocked. He’s been saying he’s going to marry me. And I have to admit—and even admire—how easy and elegant his solution is. “Wow. I didn’t even think about that as an option.”
“Sometimes the best solution is the simplest.”
It certainly is. I might agree—even praise him—if he weren’t wearing that superior “I’m always right” expression. Since I don’t want to make him even smugger, I lean forward. “How about the video? He can still release it or try to hold it over me somehow.”
“It won’t be a problem. Unless he enjoys getting his meals out of dumpsters.”