“How long have they been married?” I ask.
“Five…six years?” David pours me a glass of sangria. “Here. This should help you relax.”
“Thanks. Am I that obvious?” I thought I was doing a decent job of projecting a poised-yet-nonchalant dinner guest.
“Well, they are more or less strangers to you, and I can tell you aren’t totally comfortable. Not that I blame you. Nobody relaxes around Dane, except maybe his wife and kid. He’s so pussy-whipped.” David rolls his eyes, but with a small smile.
“He just loves them,” I say, doing my best to ignore the yearning in my heart. Sophia has everything I wish for—a doting husband and a bright child. If I’m not careful, I’ll get too emotional, and I don’t want to embarrass myself or David in front of his friends.
David nods. “Yeah. There is that.”
Isabella returns to the table and sits next to me. “Could I can have some of your juice, please?” she asks in an angelic tone.
“I’m afraid not, princess. It’s alcohol,” I say.
“It’s juice,” she says, fluttering her eyelashes. “Mommy said I could have some.”
I marvel at her ability to lie so easily with such an innocent face. Her eyes are so wide and blue that it’s impossible to think she’s being sly.
David leans close to her. “That might work on your daddy, but it won’t work on us.”
She pouts. “That’s being greedy. Daddy says you have to share.”
He straightens. “Ha! Your mommy might have said that. Your daddy’s the greediest bas—I mean, uh, the most tight-fisted man I’ve ever met.”
“No, he’s not. His hands aren’t like this.” The girl clenches her hands so hard that they start shaking.
I burst out laughing. She’s pretty precocious, and I didn’t realize she might not know some of the words.
Sophia and Dane come back in. She’s in a pale gold dress, and he’s in a blue V-neck shirt and black slacks. He’s carrying a few plastic bags with logos I can’t make out. He looks at Isabella’s fists and David and me laughing. “What’s so funny?”
“Daddy, are your fists tight?”
“Not usually, honey,” he says warmly. His cold gaze falls on David. “Now why would my child ask that?”
David shrugs. “Eh, kids. You know.”
Dane merely grunts. Sophia sits down. “I hope you don’t mind Mexican,” she says. “Our cook had a family emergency this afternoon, so we ordered some stuff from Manny’s. They have amazing food.”
“I love Mexican,” I say, relieved it’s going to be a simple dinner rather than some elaborate affair, like some of the boring political dinners I had to attend with my dad.
“Perfect.”
We lay out the food and start eating. My beef burrito is still hot.
“How do you keep everything so warm?” I ask.
“We have a food warmer. Keeps everything hot and fresh for an hour after we bring it home,” Sophia explains. “It’s the best thing ever. Our sister-in-law Jane recommended it. Iain’s wife. She’s an amazing cook.”
Sophia and Dane naturally segue into talking about family, then ask David about his parents—how they’re doing and what they’re up to these days. I nibble on my food, wondering what I’m supposed to say about mine when they get to me. Should I make stuff up? Tell them the family I wish I had, rather than the one I actually have?
But it seems like a crummy thing to do, to lie when Sophia and Dane are being so hospitable. Even if Dane seems to be just sort of going along with the whole thing becau
se of his wife.
So when I’m the one in the hot seat, I smile. “My dad’s the mayor of a small town in Virginia. Saintsville. You’ve probably never heard of it. I’m not even sure if it’s on a map. It’s that small,” I say, hoping that it discourages them from probing.
“Then we haven’t heard of it,” Dane says crisply.