She contemplated just rolling on top of him and seeing how things progressed, but decided in favour of the pie, for the present. She’d been too on edge about exposing Richard to her family, and vice versa, to eat much at the party. Propping her chin on one hand, she reached with the other to skewer a mushy piece of apricot. As she chewed, she eyed him thoughtfully. “So, how horrifying was today, on a scale of one to ten?”
“I had a better time than you’re likely to have next Sunday, at Westfield’s house.” Richard folded back his other arm, and his biceps flexed invitingly. She determinedly ate another mouthful of stewed fruit. “Your family is very...you.” He smiled faintly. “Open. Friendly. Talkative.”
“Loud, demanding and bossy?” She extracted a red M&M from the remnants of the pie and put it in her mouth. Richard lazily opened one blue eye and followed the sweet’s progress.
He contemplated her lips. “Your family obviously love you a lot. I’m glad you have people who watch out for you.”
And who watched out for him? She hesitated. “Richard...”
“Mmm?” His eyes were closed again.
“How did your mother die?”
There had been no details on Wikipedia, only the bare fact that Anna Troy had passed away two years after her husband. There were a lot of photos of her taken just prior to her death, when she’d been linked to an Italian racing car driver. The images had firmly established the origin of Richard’s dark, sculpted looks. It was the similar jaded look in her eyes that had affected Lainie most. Anna had been in the arms of a smiling, super-hot man, surrounded by dozens of laughing people, and she’d looked lonely. She’d probably died lonely.
Hannah had died alone, despite the fact that her hands had been held tightly, but she hadn’t died lonely.
Lainie didn’t want Richard to live lonely.
He was quiet long enough that she regretted asking, but he did eventually answer. “Ironically, she did die of a heart attack. The postmortem revealed an arterial blockage.”
“Did it happen in England?”
“In Italy. She’d been seeing an Italian. I think he genuinely grieved for her, to give him credit.” He sat up suddenly and shoved a restless hand through his black curls. “They weren’t exclusive, though, and could go days without seeing one another. The coroner thought she’d been lying there for about eighty hours before her body was found.”
“That’s awful.” She reached out to him. Very lightly and gently, she spread her fingers on his abdomen, and he put his hand over hers. “I’m sorry.”
“So was I. Sorry for her, mostly. I really hardly knew her. She wasn’t a particularly good mother. I’m sorry she died like that, and that she never seemed to get much happiness out of her relationships.”
Lainie scooted closer and curled up next to him, sliding her hand across his chest in a hug and touching her nose to his cheek. He bent his arm to hook loosely around her neck.
There was a heavy weight to the silence, in contrast to the lighthearted sensual thrum of a few moments ago.
Geez. Way to rain on his birthday.
Unable to just sit there while he had that look on his face, she carefully released him and got to her feet. Walking across to the table, she opened her bag and rifled through it to find the DVDs.
“I got us a movie,” she explained, holding up the first of the cases.
“Is it a romantic comedy?” he asked suspiciously, and she tried to imagine his reaction to Pretty Woman or While You Were Sleeping. He would probably disapprove of the idealization of prostitution in the former. The latter might be good for her conscience. She and Richard had originally faked their relationship, but it had been with reluctant mutual consent. At least one of them hadn’t been in a coma at the time.
“I do have high expectations for the comedy, yes.”
“What is it?” He sounded even more suspicious.
“You’ll probably guess from the theme music.” She turned on the TV and started the DVD player.
She looked at him between lowered lashes when the disc began to play. It was a makeshift copy, so there were no menu options. Alas. She would have paid a great deal for behind-the-scenes special features.
It took less than five seconds for his entire body to stiffen. “What the f—” He snatched up the plastic case, turning it over to see if there was anything printed on the front. His eyes—intensely blue, incredulous and wrathful—snapped to hers. “Where the hell did you get this?”
“Shh!” she said, grinning. “You’re on. Oh, my. Sexy pompadour, Troy.” Richard lunged for the remote, and she held it out of his reach. “No way. Student Richard Troy, strutting his stuff with the T Birds? I’ve been looking forward to this all day.”
Richard’s expression was beyond price. “Where,” he repeated, dangerously, “did you get it?”
“Victoria knows a lot of people at Oxford. I caught her in a good mood, and she called in a favour. Someone scavenged in the drama archives. And struck gold, I have to say. Did they have to sew you into those jeans?”