17

I’m making the most of my last bite. The taste of veal is singular, rich, thick. Sure, every time you order veal it’s a little different, but they share common traits. Subtle flavors, pliable flesh, deep enjoyment. I finish my bite and smile. I think back to the seduction of Mia, how easy it was compared to some others I’ve encountered lately, most notably Caroline.

Caroline felt it, though. The chemistry, the surge. My power. But now I need to focus on Mia. That is the task at hand. Operation Make Mia Love Me Completely Again Tonight. What is going on with her? I wonder. Why the trip down memory lane? I swallow and soften my approach.

“You wouldn’t have said no, Mia,” I say. “It was an instant connection. Such chemistry. I know you felt it, too.”

“I felt it,” she admits, her voice quiet. I lean forward to hear her. “But with all the rules, well, if I had turned you down, what would you have done? Would you have been embarrassed? Tried to get me fired? You did hold all the power. I was brand-new at the agency. What would have happened?”

“I’m not sure I see the value in hypothetical conversations. But if you’d said no, I would have kept asking until you agreed to go out with me. I knew we were meant to be together. I couldn’t imagine a different outcome,” I say. I’m so good at this. “Our story is a romance novel. Love at first sight. As you wish and all that happily-ever-after.”

“I don’t read romance novels, but I do know most people are driven by fear and shame. Most guys would have been nervous to ask a new, young associate on a date, especially since there are rules about that. But you didn’t have any fear, not at all. You don’t have any shame either. It’s interesting,” she says. Apparently, she has finished pushing greens into her mouth as she places her fork at four o’clock and slides the bowl an inch forward. Impeccable manners, another reason I love her.

“I know what I want and I go for it. There’s no shame in that, Mia. Not to me,” I say. “I am what I am.”

“True,” she agrees. “I thought you were so unique, when we first met. You just wowed me. I remember huge bouquets of flowers arrived all the time. You tucked sweet love notes into surprising places at my desk. You swept me off my feet, like a movie, like how I dreamed. Before I knew it, I was ignoring my friends, my family and spending every moment with you. I was intoxicated by you. I thought you were so special, I thought you were the most handsome, most intelligent, most romantic man I’d ever met. And the sex, well, I had never been with a man. You taught me everything.” Mia pauses, takes a drink of water. Her eyes are shiny with love. “But now I know you’re a type.”

“A type?” What does that mean?

“May I clear your salad?” our waiter asks Mia, rudely interrupting when she was clearly trying to say something, something about me or about us, I’m not sure.

“Yes, thank you, I’m finished. No dessert for either of us, right, Paul?”

“Correct. The veal was perfect,” I say to the waiter, who ignores me.

“Coffee?” he asks Mia.

“Please,” she says.

“No,” I say at the same time. He will bring her coffee, I know, even though she knows I hate sitting through a coffee. When a meal is finished, it’s finished. I don’t like to linger at the table. I think you know why now: green beans.

“My family and friends couldn’t believe how fast I fell for you, how quickly we became engaged, just six months after our first date,” Mia says. “That’s really fast. I would kill Mikey or Sam if they did that. And then, bam. I was pregnant. It was all such a whirlwind.”

“But it was right,” I say. “I didn’t consider it too fast. Is there a rule about pre-engagement, honey? I don’t think so. When it’s right, it just is.”

“You’d had a chance to experience the world, move around, live on your own. I basically went from my parents, to college, to you.”

Yes, that’s what made you so perfect, I think but don’t say. I roll my head from shoulder to shoulder and hear a pop on the left side of my neck. What is she poking around at the past for? It is what it is. It led us here. It’s why I selected her. “Yes, I suppose you did. But that’s a path many women choose to walk, a lovely path.”

“Even when I discovered you’d been unfaithful, during our engagement,” she says as the waiter delivers her coffee cup and begins to pour the hot black liquid. The smell reminds me of morning, of the office, of Caroline. I know I’m scowling. The waiter hates me even more now. Why is Mia airing our past in front of this ice-eyed stranger?

“Sugar? Cream?” he asks. The way he says it has me imagining that he is saying to her, “Date, tonight?”

“No, thank you,” she says. After he bows and leaves, she glances at me and blushes. She must know I’m fuming, the fire starting.

“I don’t mean to upset you, Paul. It’s just that this time together, well actually, the past few months, I’ve been thinking a lot.” I don’t like it when Mia is thinking a lot. I just want her busy at home, taking care of the children, the house, keeping her parents happy and sending cash. She just needs to stop thinking, and stop talking to nosy neighbors like Doris and Buck.

“Honey, there’s nothing to think about,” I say. I shake my head intently, hoping she’ll just drink her damn coffee. Why is she rehashing a meaningless one-night stand from a decade ago?

It’s like she doesn’t hear me. “We’d already sent the wedding invitations out, the ceremony was days away when I found out about her. Someone at the office left that note in my desk drawer: Your fiancé is having a fling with a client. I still remember holding the index card the note was written on. My hands were shaking but even as I read it, I knew it was true. I’d watched you flirt with the woman at the office. I saw how she looked at you.

“I was too ashamed to call it off. But you knew that would be the case, didn’t you? That’s why you admitted it to me when I showed you the note. It was a power play. You proved you could do whatever you wanted and I’d marry you, stay with you. All those years ago, you’d already won.”

Yes, I always win. But still, I realize I’m clenching my jaw. The past is just that. If she wants to dwell on it, she can do it on her own time. I don’t feel guilty about my fling with that woman client. It was a last hurrah before the old ball and chain. Plenty of guys do it. But I do wish I could remember her name. It seems to me she moved to Michigan or something. Oh, well.

“Mia, has that really been bothering you all this time? As I told you, it was a mistake. I wanted to confess to you myself, to start our marriage in honesty and trust. I’m not proud that someone else got to you first and remember, I apologized on bended knee.” I think back to that awkward moment in her office. I’d instantly decided to admit my culpability while blaming it on the client, and begged for Mia’s forgiveness. It had worked perfectly. I’m good at thinking on my feet, a smooth pivot.

“Remember, honey, she came on to me, that client. You saw it yourself. My only crime was a lapse in judgment. I wanted to land the account too much. It was stupid and as you know, it has never happened again. And of course, our wedding went off without a hitch. Everything worked out, right?” I say. But I don’t want to hear her response right now, so I add: “I’m glad. Look at us—we’re perfect together. We have two amazing sons, and the best life. I love you. Happy best day ever.”

Mia takes a sip of her coffee, stares at me over the cup. After a moment, she returns the cup to the saucer, breaking our eye contact. “That’s right, the best day ever. What else is on your agenda for us tonight?”

“I have a few more things up my sleeve,” I say, remembering the cigarettes in my briefcase, the matches in my pocket. The surprise in my glove box. “Ready to go?”

“I’ll ask for the check,” Mia says, knowing she can attract our waiter.

“I’ll need you to give him a credit card. I, um, forgot to make that transfer,” I say. I know my face is full of love, and happiness. I reach for her hand across the table. She ignores the gesture.

“Yes, I figured,” Mia says, smiling a fake smile and tilting her head awkwardly. We must look like some freaky couple from a 1950s advertisement for the good life, all stilted and perfect. Except the guy would be paying, I know.

“It’s all going to work out, don’t worry,” I say.

She shakes her head before she removes her purse from the back of the chair, opens it and extracts a platinum American Express card, one I have never seen before.

“I got this for emergencies. Thank goodness I did,” she says as the waiter appears and she slips the card into his hand.

“This is hardly an emergency, Mia,” I tell her, crossing my arms across my chest. “It’s a temporary setback, like every challenge in life, honey.”

“Oh, it is, is it? How exactly do you plan to solve our financial situation, Paul?” she asks.

Fortunately, before I have to formulate an answer, the waiter returns with the receipt in a black leather folder. I watch as Mia opens the folder, reclaims her platinum card and adds a 25 percent tip for her guard dog before scribbling her signature: M. Pilmer.