“Well, now. Aren’t you going to introduce us, Simon? I’m assuming this is the … friend your mother mentioned. The one who couldn’t join us for supper because she had to work at … what was it? A tattoo parlor?” He studied me like I was a circus freak. “What was your name again?”

Simon’s features hardened to granite. “This is Charlie, Dad. She’s my girlfriend.” Simon moved to stand next to me. “Charlie, this is my father, Jefferson Duchesne.”

I held out a hand, and wondered if he’d deign to shake it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

He gripped my hand for a moment before dropping it. “We have important matters to discuss. If you’re finished with your … girlfriend … perhaps we could chat.”

Simon pulled me against him, and I winced at the twinge in my side. Looking down at me, he stiffened and said absently to his father, “I’m not actually. We can talk tomorrow.”

Confusion darkened Simon’s expression. Reaching out a hand, he tilted my face toward him so he could see my bruise more clearly. My thought about doing a shitty job salvaging my makeup was confirmed.

“Simon, this is important,” his father insisted.

“Dad. Not now.” Simon’s tone was implacable. His father spun, leaving the office in a huff, the door banging shut behind him.

Simon exploded. “What the fuck happened? Did someone hit you?” His thumb skimmed my cheekbone.

“I … I made poor choices last night.”

“What kinds of poor choices?” He started to wrap both arms around me, but stopped when I recoiled. “Seriously, Charlie, what the fuck?”

I swallowed. “I kind of … got knifed?”

All of the color drained from Simon’s face, and his eyes flicked over me maniacally. “Where? Jesus Christ! What the hell?” He was roaring now, and I was glad the door was closed.

“In the Quarter, just off Bourbon. I was drunk and by myself.”

He looked like he wanted to shake me. He gathered the skirt of my maxi dress and lifted it up.

“Hey—wait.”

“Shut up.” I would have taken issue with his words if he hadn’t dropped to his knees in front of me. He shoved the bunched skirt into my hands. “Hold this.” His touch was light as he surveyed the angry red slice.

“I’m fine.”

He ignored my words. “Con do this?”

“Of course not!”

“No, I mean, did he glue you up?”

“Oh. Yeah. I was passed out. Don’t remember anything after calling him.” I hastily filled him in on the other hazy details of the night.

The hurt in his eyes at not being the one I called for help was obvious. “At least you had the sense to call someone.” He pressed a kiss to my stomach beside the wound. “I owe Con then.”

After a long moment, he stood. I dropped the bunched fabric, once again covering the evidence of my idiocy.

“You got knifed, but still put on a dress to come apologize.” He sounded a little awed.

Embarrassment flushing my cheeks, I bit my lip and stared at the ground. “Yeah.”

He tilted my chin up again and leaned down to kiss me. Just the barest brush of his lips across mine. And then he kissed my bruise.

When he pulled away, his expression was serious. “For a first fight, that was a doozy.”

“So we’re good now?” I asked.

Simon nodded. “We’re good.”

“I guess getting knifed means no makeup sex?” I asked, trying to interject some humor into the intense moment. But my statement knocked another question loose. “Why did you think I had sex with Con?”

“Saw your … goodbye on the street this afternoon.” His jaw tightened. “It was … pretty friendly.”

“That’s because Con is a friend. I’m not going to apologize for my history with him. You just … need to get over it.”

“Let’s just say I’m still working on it.” Simon threaded his fingers through mine. “How do you feel about dinner?”

“I could eat.”

“Then let’s get out of here.”

“Don’t you need to talk to your dad?”

“No. Whatever he’s got to say will keep.”

I took a deep breath and chose my words carefully. I was going to let him in. A little. Starting now. “You’re lucky, in the same situation, my dad would’ve gotten very quiet and given you this look that would have shriveled your balls to raisins. And after you’d slunk out of his office, he would’ve smiled like nothing had happened and continued on with the conversation he intended.”

Simon stilled. “You’ve never talked about your parents before.”

I kept my eyes trained on the floor, terrified I was giving too much away. “They’re not a part of my life anymore. They’re not … the nicest people. Especially my dad. And my mom … well, she only ever really cared about keeping up appearances. We were never close.”

He lifted my hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the inside of my wrist. “Thank you. For telling me that.”

I finally met his eyes and shrugged. “I’m trying.”

“I know. And that matters. A whole hell of a lot.”

I tugged him toward the door. I needed to change the subject before I was tempted to tell him everything. “Feed me.”

“Whatever the lady wants.”

I smiled, but it felt forced. My confession had unsettled me. And what’s more, I couldn’t stop thinking about what his dad had said about Simon’s campaign getting off the ground. How the hell could I stay out of the spotlight and hold on to Simon at the same time? You can’t, the realist in my head whispered. The bitch was undoubtedly right. But I wasn’t giving up yet.

Simon was holding out on me, and it was starting to piss me off. Correction: I was pissed off.

No sex.

For two weeks.

It wasn’t like he and I were engaging in all out Sexual Olympics before I decided to make poor life choices, but now there was nothing. Simon was adamant about me not doing anything too taxing, which apparently included all forms of sexual activity, until he was satisfied that I was fully recovered. I supposed I should be happy that we were, after our first fight, firmly back in the honeymoon phase. Except honeymoons included sex. Well, honeymoons without knife wounds did.