The Sparkling One

fruit.

“Who eats dried fruit?” David asked.

“I do.” Mia studied the machine. “Wouldn’t it just be easier to buy it?”

“Or eat chips.” David poked at a massive box containing a pasta maker. “Dad never cooked much. I sure didn’t learn anything from him.”

“Don’t look at me. The Grands have always done the cooking at our house.”

He looped an arm around her and grinned. “You’re gonna be the wife, Mia. I guess you’ll have to learn.”

She shrugged free of his embrace. “That is so not going to happen. Just because I’m the female here, don’t assume I’m going to be taking care of you. As far as I’m concerned, household chores will be split fifty-fifty, and that includes cooking.”

Suddenly David wasn’t smiling. “I’m not going to learn to cook.”

“Why not?”

“I’ll be busy with school.”

“And I won’t? While you’re still trying to figure out your major, I’ll be applying to grad school, taking my regular classes, and working part-time at one of the consulates, assuming I get into that internship program.”

“Mia, I’m a guy.”

She eyed the selection of knives on a nearby wall. But as her father liked to say, violence was the refuge of the incompetent.

“I guess if you don’t cook and I don’t cook, we’ll be buying a lot of take-out,” she said lightly.

“Works for me.”

“The good news is there are a ton of great places by campus. And when we’re in D.C., there will be all-new places to try.” She saw a display of coffeemakers. “Hey, I could use a new one of these. What do you think?”

But David didn’t follow her to the display. Instead he stood in the center of the aisle, feet braced, hands in his pockets, an unruly lock of hair falling across his forehead.

She turned to him. “What?”

“You’re talking about Georgetown.”

“Of course. I know I have to apply to other grad schools, but that’s the one I really want.” She frowned at his stern expression. “David, it’s not like this is news.”

“Are you applying to UCLA?”

She felt the ground turn into quicksand. Actually, she was not. Although she was enjoying her undergrad experience there, she wanted to attend a different school to continue her studies. Preferably somewhere on the East Coast.

“I haven’t decided,” she hedged.

“When you graduate, I’ll still have two years left there.”

She shifted her weight from foot to foot, hating that she felt almost…guilty. “I know.” She had known. She just didn’t like to think about it.

Then she reminded herself she had nothing to feel guilty about. This was her life, her dream, her career. She’d wanted to go into the State Department since she’d first learned what it was nearly six years ago. She’d already compromised. Wasn’t it his turn?

“Look,” she said. “I wanted to take that Japanese language class in Japan, and you agreed it would be fun. We talked about it being our honeymoon. Then you changed your mind and didn’t want to go. So we switched to D.C. Now I’m taking the language class and you’re just going to hang out for six weeks. I’m okay with that. Why can’t you be okay with me not getting my master’s at UCLA?”

“Because it means I have to change schools.”

“Which you already said was fine with you.” She tried not to scream. “Is this all about you? You need a wife who can cook, and you need a wife who won’t study a foreign language in a foreign country, and you need a wife who has no dreams of her own, except you don’t have any dreams or plans, either. You don’t even have a fucking major.”

They glared at each other. Mia refused to be the one who blinked first.

David sighed, then shrugged. “I don’t know what I need, Mia. You’re the one with all the answers. Maybe you should tell me.”

Suddenly picking out items for their gift registry didn’t seem like such a good idea. She carefully folded the sheets of paper in half.

“Look. I have a report I have to work on. You want to do this another time?”

David shrugged. “Sure.”

They headed for the escalator. Mia had the weirdest feeling that she couldn’t catch her breath. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, she thought frantically. Was it? She and David were engaged. Shouldn’t they be happy?

The first time Katie had walked into Zach’s office, she’d been excited about the job offer of a lifetime. The second time she’d been dealing with post-humiliation repercussions. Now she had to wrestle with the fact that he was not only her client and a future in-law, but a man who had rocked her world with a simple kiss (annoying but true). He was also her sister’s divorce lawyer. If they got any more involved, they would become symbiotic beings.

She was determined to make sure that didn’t happen. She would be wary, on guard, and completely professional. No visceral reactions allowed.

Dora Preston sat outside of Zach’s office. She smiled when she saw Katie. “He’s waiting for you,” Dora said. “Go right in.”

“Thanks.”

Katie straightened her spine, tried her “You’re the best” mantra for good measure, and stepped into the shark’s lair.

Zach rose when he saw her. And smiled. As she had yet to receive her Zach-smile vaccine, she found herself instantly melting.

Stop! No melting, she told herself. No being excited to see him. Nada!

“Katie, what a pleasure.”

He walked around his desk and approached her. Instead of shaking her hand, he squeezed her upper arm and sounded genuinely pleased to see her. Uh-huh. Sure. Cool, she told herself. She was ice.

“I come bearing paperwork,” she said calmly, holding up her stuffed briefcase. In her other hand she held a portable file box.

Zach led her to the desk, then offered coffee, which she accepted. While he walked over to a small tea tray by his credenza and poured her a cup, she unloaded her briefcase and started on the file folder.

“Cream? Sugar?”

“Just black,” she said.

By the time he returned to sit next to her, she had spread out several sample invitations.

“We need to get the order into the printer,” she said. “I like this one.” She pointed to a thick paper invitation edged in black and gold.

Zach laughed. “The last invitations I picked out had toy soldiers on them. I think it was for David’s eleventh birthday party. You go with what you like.”

“I’m happy to pick, but do you want to run the selections by your partners?”

“Not even on a bet.”

She forgot herself for a second and smiled. “Okay. So you’re not party planners.”

She pulled out her master list and noted the invitation number. “Now, before I can do anything, I will need one thing from you. And that’s budget approval.”

The five-page document listed every possible expense, although some items, such as liquor, had to be estimated. Zach took the document and scanned it.

“You’re very thorough,” he said after a minute.

“I try to be. As I noted at the bottom, should there be an unexpected expense of more than three hundred dollars, I’ll send out written notice immediately.”

“Fair enough.” He read a little more. “Goody bags for adults. Isn’t that a kid thing?”

“Not at all. I’ll do a smaller, less expensive bag for the regular guests and a dynamite one for our high rollers.”