A Marriage Fit for a Sinner

She reached her seat and froze at the romantic setting of the table. Expensive silverware and crystal-cut glasses gleamed beneath soft lighting. And already set out in a bed of ice was a small silver tub of caviar. A bottle of champagne chilled in an ice stand next to Zaccheo’s chair.

‘Do you intend to eat standing up?’

She jumped when his warm breath brushed her ear. When had he moved so close?

‘Of course not. I just wasn’t expecting such an elaborate meal.’ She urged her feet to move to where he held out her chair, and sat down. ‘One would almost be forgiven for thinking you were celebrating something.’

‘Being released from prison isn’t reason enough to enjoy something better than grey slop?’

Mortified, she cursed her tactlessness. ‘I...of course. I’m sorry, that was... I’d forgotten...’ Oh, God, just shut up, Eva.

‘Of course you had.’

She tensed. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘You’re very good at putting things behind you, aren’t you? Or have you forgotten how quickly you walked away from me the last time, too?’

She glanced down at her plate, resolutely picked up her spoon and helped herself to a bite of caviar. The unique taste exploded on her tongue, but it wasn’t enough to quell the anxiety churning her stomach. ‘You know why I walked away last time.’

‘Do I?’

‘Yes, you do!’ She struggled to keep her composure. ‘Can we talk about something else, please?’

‘Why, because your actions make you uncomfortable? Or does it make your skin crawl to be sharing a meal with an ex-convict?’

Telling herself not to rise to the bait, she took another bite of food. ‘No, because you snarl and your voice turns arctic, and also because I think we have different definitions of what really happened.’

He helped himself to a portion of his caviar before he responded. ‘Really? Enlighten me, per favore.’

She pressed her lips together. ‘We’ve already been through this, remember? You admitted that you proposed to me simply to get yourself into the Old Boys’ Club. Are you going to bother denying it now?’

He froze for several heartbeats. Then he ate another mouthful. ‘Of course not. But I believed we had an agreement. That you knew the part you had to play.’

‘I’m sorry, I must have misplaced my copy of the Zaccheo Giordano Relationship Guide.’ She couldn’t stem the sarcasm or the bitterness that laced her voice.

‘You surprise me.’

‘How so?’ she snapped, her poise shredding by the second.

‘You’re determined to deny that you know exactly how this game is played. That you aristocrats haven’t practised the something-for-something-more tenet for generations.’

‘You seem to be morbidly fascinated with the inner workings of the peer class. If we disgust you so much, why do you insist on soiling your life with our presence? Isn’t it a bit convenient to hold us all responsible for every ill in your life?’

A muscle ticced in his jaw and Eva was certain she’d struck a nerve. ‘You think having my freedom taken away is a subject I should treat lightly?’

The trembling in her belly spread out to engulf her whole body. ‘The evidence led to your imprisonment, Zaccheo. Now we can change the subject or we can continue to fight to see who gives whom indigestion first.’

He remained silent for several moments, his eyes boring into hers. Eva stared back boldly, because backing down would see her swallowed whole by the deadly volcanic fury lurking in his eyes. She breathed a tiny sigh of relief when that mocking half-smile made an appearance.

‘As you wish.’ He resumed eating and didn’t speak again until their first course was done. ‘Let’s play a game. We’ll call it What If,’ he said into the silence.

Tension knotted her nape, the certainty that she was toying with danger rising higher. ‘I thought you didn’t like games?’

‘I’ll make an exception this time.’

She took a deep breath. ‘Okay. If you insist.’

‘What if I wasn’t the man you think I am? What if I happened to be a stranger who was innocent of everything he’s been accused of? What if that stranger told you that every day he’d spent in prison felt like a little bit of himself was being chipped away for ever? What would you say to him?’ His voice held that pain-laced edge she’d first heard in the car.

She looked at his face but his eyes were downcast, his white-knuckled hand wrapped around his wine glass.