Fake Marriage Box Set

Andrew chuckled as well and shook his head, glancing around the place. “I'm sorry if you're feeling out of place here,” he said, seeming genuinely apologetic. “It's been a while since I took out a woman who...” He trailed off, and I grimaced.

“Who wasn't high-class?” I suggested distastefully, wondering if I shouldn't just leave.

“I don't mean it like that,” Andrew said, looking momentarily embarrassed. “It's just, the circles that I run in, the types of women who I normally meet, they're all people from a certain circle.”

“Other women with penthouses and trust funds and manicures and everything under the sun,” I said bitterly.

“Lexi, I invited you here for a reason,” Andrew reminded me. “Because I think you're interesting and intelligent. I didn't bring you here to test your knowledge of French cuisine.”

I sighed and hung my head. “Sorry, I just feel out of place, like you said.”

“How about I order us a selection of the grignotages as a sampler?” he suggested. Seeing my look of confusion, he smiled and elaborated. “Grignotages would translate to something like 'little nibbles.' Snacks, maybe.”

“Oh!” I said. “That might be a good idea.” But then, I frowned. “Are you sure, though? You probably know what you want, and I would feel bad making you change that just because I don't know what anything is. I could just randomly point to something on the menu. It's not like I'm a picky eater.”

Andrew held up a hand to halt my babbling defense. “That's fine,” he said, turning to the waiter as he approached the table and shooting off our order in rapid French. “What?” Andrew asked self-consciously as the waiter walked off and he noticed me staring at him.

I shook my head. “That was impressive, is all. I feel like I should applaud.”

He laughed. “For most people, I guess their high school French classes never really come in handy, but Orinoco has acquired a couple French companies over the past couple years. So I've gotten a lot of practice recently. Of course, they all speak English, but it always impresses them when I can talk about the nuances of trade with them in their native language.”

“I can imagine,” I said.

“So, what about you?” Andrew asked, leaning back and studying me.

I frowned at him. “Clearly, I don't speak French or else I'd have been able to read the menu,” I said, causing him to chuckle again.

“Not what I meant, although I suppose I wasn't clear. What I was asking is, you know my entire life's story. All that I know about you is your name and that you're an insurance analyst for Albright.” He paused. “No, wait, let me guess about you, and you tell me what I've got right and what I've got wrong. You're a numbers person. You're not really into languages. You're probably a bit of an introvert, and the last time you were on a date was a while ago.”

“Hey!” I protested, even though it was true.

Andrew looked amused and continued. “You're probably really close with your parents, and you don't plan on living here in the c

ity for the rest of your life, but you need a job because you just graduated college not too long ago, and you need to pay off your student loans.”

I laughed. “Wrong on all of that,” I said. “Not the part about being close to my parents, I guess. Just my mom, though. My dad isn't in the picture. And I did graduate college not that long ago. But I grew up here in the city, and I got scholarships for most of my college tuition. My mom's an artist, so it's not like she was able to contribute all that much, and my school recognized that.”

“Your mother is an artist?” Andrew asked, sounding truly interested, for the first time that night. “She must have been upset to hear that you were going to study whatever numbers stuff you studied in order to become an insurance analyst.”

“Statistics,” I said. “That's what I studied.” I shrugged. “I never really knew what I wanted to do. I've dabbled in a lot of different types of art, but I think the statistics stuff is really interesting, too, and I figured it would make a good fallback plan if the art stuff never panned out for me.”

“That is smart,” Andrew agreed, nodding sagely. “I was never all that interested in art, to be honest, but I've taken more of an interest in it in recent years.” He smiled as the waiter poured us each a glass of wine. “Art and wine, my two biggest hobbies at the moment.”

I snorted. “Purely because they show off your billionaire status?”

He looked taken aback by that. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, are you actually interested in art and wine, or are you just interested in showing off your wealth?”

Andrew was silent for a moment, seeming to consider this. “Does it matter?” he finally asked. “Even if I'm faking it, I'm still supporting culture. I contribute funds towards the arts, and I promote sophistication and class. Isn't that a good thing, regardless of what my motives are?”

“Maybe,” I agreed, mulling it over as well. “What kinds of art are you interested in, anyway?”

“At the moment, black and white photography,” Andrew said. “There's a really interesting gallery that just opened on Thirteenth Street, Téchni. It's a phonetic spelling of the Greek word for art. Anyway, the gallery is really cool. It's all these black and white film photographs that have had various distortions applied to them, things like light leaks, but also some that have had their corners burnt or holes cut in them or things like that. I could spend hours there.”

“I'll have to check it out,” I said, making a mental note.

“If I'd known you were interested in art, we could have gone out on Sunday evening instead, to the Member Nights at the Seattle Art Museum.”