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hear how ridiculous you sound?” she
interrupted, leaning forward to prop her elbows on the table. “You
think with all these sharks circling the water, the little bitches
just waiting for you to stumble so they can take a nice big bite of
your boy, you’d at least realize how good you have it and how
wonderful he is.
    “But you just can’t stop picking that scab,
can you?” she continued. “I mean, Jesus, Ronan, I’m looking for one
good reason not to slap the stupid out of you.”
    “It’s not like I’m not trying to stop --”
    “Oh give me a fucking break,” she said. “Just
stop! Stop it! Enjoy him, for god’s sake. There is absolutely no
guarantee whatsoever you’ll have another day with this guy, who’s
fantastic, by the way. And how stupid and sick are you going to
feel if you realize you wasted it by, I don’t know, worrying about
... well, what, exactly? What the hell are you worried about?”
    I shrugged, suddenly aware of how right she
was and how stupid I was being. And the fact that I really didn’t
have an ...
    “Answer,” she demanded.
    Damn, I hated it when she made me feel, like,
this big.
    She waited, wrapped in pre-season Prada, her
wrist glinting with diamonds, a blood red ruby gracing her
fist.
    “Um, well,” I mumbled. “I have
questions.”
    “Questions. You have questions.”
    “Yeah,” I answered, desperate to change the
subject, but realizing that was so not going to happen.
    “Okay,” she said. “So, ask him.”
    “You think --”
    “He’s talked with you how many times about
this?”
    “I know, I know,” I quickly said. “And I did,
you know. Last night.”
    “And?”
    “And we talked,” I said. “Briefly.”
    “And?” she repeated.
    “And then we stopped talking.”
    “Ergo, the glow,” she said, sipping her
drink.
    “But this Byzan info,” I continued. “That
really bugs me.”
    “So, talk with him again.”
    “You really think he’s going to --”
    “I swear I’m on repeat here, Ronan,” she
interrupted. “He’s said how many times --?”
    “I know, I know.”
    “I don’t know that you do know. Just trust
it, for Christ’s sake.”
    She was right. Again.
    “Now you know what to do, it couldn’t be more
clear, so get off your butt and do it,” she finished. “Moving
on.”
    Oh, that was quick.
    I sighed, surprised, but relieved to be out
of the frying pan. At least for the moment.
    She took a generous swallow of her Bloody
Mary.
    “I’m having dinner with Jacob,” she then
said.
    “Jacob?” I asked. “You mean your Jacob?”
    She nodded.
    Ah, the earlier “peachy” was starting to make
sense.
    “Yep, the one and only,” she answered, her
eyes scanning the crowded room. “We coordinated our calendars,
settled on Thursday and, well, there you go.”
    “And you’re off to California.”
    “Of course not,” she said with a shake of her
head. “I don’t do California. He’s in New
York. At the Pierre.”
    “So, he’s not staying --”
    A brief shake of blonde curls.
    “No.”
    I was speechless. None of this sounded
good.
    “You don’t think he ... I mean, the two of
you, you’re okay --” I began.
    “Not really.”
    “Is it serious?”
    “Yep.”
    “Yeah, but you don’t actually think it’ll
lead to the two of you, oh, I don’t know, you know, actually
--”
    “Almost definitely,” she quickly said.
    “See how lucky you are now?” she then added
with a shrug.
    I waited, not sure what to say, but aware I
needed to say something. Anything.
    That my Deni would no longer be Deni
Dollisandro Goldin, but just Deni Dollisandro? On her own?
Alone?
    It was almost too much to fathom.
    “How do you feel?” I finally stammered.
    “Like I need another one of these,” she said
before knocking back the rest of her Bloody Mary.
     
     
     

Chapter Eleven
     
    Deni’s words haunted me, my mind reeling with
the possibility of her and Jacob divorcing. It didn’t need to be
said that, with the fortune at stake and