“I wish I were as cool as Rick,” I said.
“No one will ever be as cool as Rick. Bogie was something else.” He stared at the screen, tossing popcorn into his mouth every now and then. And he almost always caught it. The big show-off. “Would you abandon me for the leader of the Resistance and leave me waiting like a loser on a train platform in Paris?”
“If we were really involved and somehow able to time travel and insert ourselves into movies?”
“Right,” he said.
I thought it over. “I’d be on the train platform.”
“You’re a romantic.”
“Not necessarily. I mean, Bogie would be better in bed than the other guy. And he genuinely loves her.”
“You don’t think the other guy loves her?”
“Not in the same way. Not with the same passion.”
He sighed. “But the other guy’s richer.”
“That’s not why Ilsa goes to him. She owes it to him, or thinks she does. Anyway, that’s got to be such a stressful situation, marrying for money.”
“How so?”
“Well, you have an amazing wardrobe and a fancy car and everything,” I said. “Live in a mansion and fly all over the world doing whatever you want whenever you want. It’s fun for a while, right? But eventually you’re going to get bored. Your chosen partner isn’t your soul mate and your sex life is probably shit. Let’s be honest. So you’re bound to go looking for more. And cheating has got to be stressful as all hell.”
He just blinked. “Please explain.”
“Think about it: having to sneak around, lying all the time, remembering who you told what lie to.” I winced. “So stressful. The next thing you know, you’re having to up your Botox appointments because your life of duplicity is running you ragged and you’re getting worry lines.”
“I still think you’re a romantic.”
“Or I could just be lazy, disorganized, and scared of needles.”
“Most of the people in this town would go with the rich guy.”
“Not necessarily,” I said. “Good dick attached to a decent man is its own reward.”
He laughed.
“The other problem with that guy is that he has this calling. This big important mission,” I said. “She will never get to come first with him. She will never be his priority.”
“And that’s important?”
“It’s everything.” I took a deep breath and put my thoughts in order. “As nice as he is, who wants to be with someone who treats you like an afterthought? If they’re not your best friend, if you can’t imagine having crap to say to them every day for the rest of your life, if you’re not willing to work your ass off to stay together, then what the heck are you doing?”
Nothing from him.
“You don’t have to be in a relationship. Being alone is a totally viable decision. And even if you are in a relationship, you both need to have your own life and interests. But don’t you get the feeling with him that his heart has already been given?”
“You have a point,” he said. “Rick would never let anyone put Ilsa in a corner.”
“You’re mixing your movie metaphors, but I’ll allow it this once.”
He smiled. And I could have sworn it was slightly bigger again than the ones previous. Amazing. “Thanks for not leaving me waiting on a train platform like a loser.”
“You’re welcome, Patrick.”
In terms of relationship milestones, we were certainly hitting them quickly. The next day we very bravely visited my Gran. Brave, at least, on my part. I learned a long time ago not to take a boyfriend anywhere near the woman. Patrick, however, was clueless. And he wanted to meet her, so he only had himself to blame.
“My granddaughter tells me you’re famous.”
Patrick sat on the chair beside me with a small polite smile on his face. He really was trying, bless him. But Gran refused to be charmed. She sat in her wheelchair, short silver hair immaculate and wearing a new white blouse. Even her mother’s pearls had made a rare appearance. We’d found a spot out in the garden since it was such a nice day. However, the scent of jasmine on the cool late spring breeze failed to improve her mood.
“It’s part of the job,” he said.
She studied his handsome face over the top of her glasses. “And you’ve been quite the playboy apparently.”
My mouth fell open. “Just going straight for the throat, huh?”
Gran barely spared me a glance. “This is between Patrick and me. Why don’t you go for a walk, Norah?”
“It’s fine.” He lay a comforting hand on my knee. “Of course your grandmother has questions. Why don’t you go grab a coffee or something?”
“Oh, I’m not going anywhere,” I said.
Gran clicked her tongue. “Fine. But be quiet.”
Before I could make a smart-ass reply, something super mature along the lines of “you’re not the boss of me,” Patrick squeezed my knee. Then he rubbed his thumb in small, soothing circles. Fine. Whatever. I could keep my mouth shut. For now.