Wedding Night

“Everyone on the outside.” Lorcan nods vigorously. “Don’t you hate those people? Telling you not to think about it.”

“Yes!” I nod in recognition. “And saying, ‘Be positive! At least you haven’t been horribly disfigured in an industrial accident!’ ”

Lorcan bursts into laughter. “You know the same people I know.”

“I just wish beyond anything that he was out of my life.” I exhale, resting my forehead briefly in my hands. “I wish they could do … I don’t know. Keyhole surgery for ex-husband removal.” Lorcan gives an appreciative smile and I gulp my wine. “What about you?”

“It was fairly grim.” He nods. “There was some nastiness about money, but we didn’t have kids, so that made it simpler.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t have kids.”

“Not really,” he replies tonelessly.

“No, really, you are,” I persist. “I mean, when you get into custody, it’s a whole other—”

“No, really, I’m not.” There’s an acerbic edge to his voice I haven’t heard before, and I suddenly remember I know very little of his private life. “We couldn’t,” he adds shortly. “I couldn’t. And I would say that that fact contributed about eighty percent to our breakup. Make that a hundred percent.” He takes a deep gulp of whiskey.

I’m so shocked I don’t know what to say. In those few words, he’s conveyed a background story of such sadness that I feel instantly guilty for having complained about my own plight. Because at least I have Noah.

“I’m sorry,” I falter at last.

“Yes. Me too.” He gives me a wry, kind smile, and I realize that he can tell I’m feeling guilty. “Although, as you say, it would have complicated things more.”

“I didn’t mean—” I begin. “I didn’t realize—”

“It’s fine.” He lifts a hand. “It’s fine.”

I recognize his tone; I use it myself. It isn’t fine: it just is.

“I really am sorry.” I repeat myself feebly.

“I know.” He nods. “Thanks.”

For a while we’re silent. Thoughts are spinning around my head, but I don’t quite dare to share any of them with him. I don’t know him well enough. They might inadvertently hurt him.

At last I retreat to the safe, once-removed territory of Lottie and Ben.

“The thing is …” I exhale. “I just want to save my sister from the same kind of hurt that we’ve both experienced. That’s all. That’s why I’m here.”

“Can I make a small point?” says Lorcan. His mouth twitches with humor, and I can tell he wants to lighten the mood. “You haven’t even met Ben.”

“I don’t need to,” I retort. “What you don’t realize is there’s a history to this. Every time Lottie breaks up with someone, she makes some stupid, rash, insane gesture that she then has to undo. I call them her Unfortunate Choices.”

“ ‘Unfortunate Choices.’ I like it.” Lorcan raises an eyebrow. “So you think Ben is her Unfortunate Choice.”

“Well, don’t you? I mean, really. Getting hitched after five minutes, planning to live in a gîte—”

“A gîte?” Lorcan looks surprised. “Who said that?”

“Lottie! She’s full of it. They’re going to have goats and chickens and we all have to visit them and eat baguettes.”

“This doesn’t sound like Ben at all,” says Lorcan. “Chickens? Are you sure?”

“Precisely! It sounds like some ridiculous pipe dream. And it’ll crumble to bits and she’ll end up divorced and bitter and just like me—” Too late, I realize I’m almost shouting. The men at the next table are looking at me again. “Just like me,” I repeat more quietly. “And that would be a disaster.”

“You do yourself a disservice,” says Lorcan. I think he’s trying to be nice. But I’m really not in the mood for flattery.

“You know what I mean.” I lean forward. “Would you wish the sheer hell of divorce on someone you cared about? Or would you try to prevent it?”

“So you’re going to arrive out of the blue, tell her to get an annulment and marry Richard. You think she’ll listen?”

I shake my head. “It’s not like that. I happen to think Richard’s great and perfect for Lottie, but I’m not going out there under the banner of Team Richard. Richard will have to be his own team. I’m on Team Don’t Mess Your Life Up.”