Page 132 of Tangled Up In You

An uncomfortable silence engulfed the table. Gavin loosely rested his arm around Sophie’s shoulders and watched Colette defiantly, daring her to pursue her interrogation.

“It makes you impotent, you know,” she finally said, smirking.

“Not in my experience,” he returned.

“Keep doing it and it will. Its …. charms do not last long.”

“You seem to have firsthand knowledge, Colette,” Gavin said. “How’d you come by that?”

“Oh, I’ve seen all kinds of things in this industry, including overdoses.”

“I can take care of myself, thanks very much,” he replied.

Conor had purposely kept quiet, curious to see where Colette would take the conversation, and thinking that, perhaps, as an outsider she would be able to get through to Gavin where he could not.

“Yeah, I can see that,” she replied with a derisive laugh.

Gavin opened his mouth and then hesitated. Finally, he said, “Your man’s done it himself. Why don’t you worry about him?”

“You have?” both Sophie and Colette said in unison, turning their eyes on Conor.

“Thanks very much, Gav,” Conor said. He locked eyes with Sophie, saw her mournful expression, and could guess she thought his confrontation of her the day before had been unfair. “Don’t look at me like that,” he told her. “I’m not a hypocrite. Yeah, I tried it. If we’re all suddenly going to be honest here, I’ve tried just about everything there is. But I’m no fucking addict. That’s the distinction and don’t pretend you don’t understand that.”

“Aye, don’t be getting the wrong idea,” Gavin said. “I’m not an addict.”

“Just stop,” Sophie said. “All of you stop. Please.”

The table went quiet. Conor watched Sophie as she looked out the window to the river. The dark water was softly illuminated by street lamps. All he wanted to do was make everything okay for her, to protect her. But it wasn’t his place.

78

SOPHIE

“Feeling better now that you’re nice and drunk, Soph?” Conor asked. They were several yards behind Gavin and Colette as they walked along the Seine back toward the hotel in opposite couplings after a particularly wine-heavy dinner. She couldn’t imagine what those two had to say. They’d sniped at each other all night. But she was too drunk, as Conor just helpfully pointed out, to worry about them.

“Yes, I feel?—”

Conor grabbed her arm to kept her from wavering. He steadied her and then put his arm around her to support her for the walk.

Sophie leaned her head into his shoulder, wrapping her arm around his waist. After a moment, she reached under his jacket for added warmth.

“You’ve got to sort yourself out, you know,” he told her quietly and then kissed the top of her head quickly. “You need to find your own way, honey.”

“What does that mean?” she mumbled.

“Just that it might be to your benefit to think about doing what’s right for you. Take care of yourself. Gavin’s a grown man—he can manage, you know?”

She turned to look up at him. “He’s my husband and he needs me.”

“Then you better run along and get him,” he replied, removing his arm from her.

The wine had left her head swimming and her vision slightly blurred. Conor’s anger at her was another rude awakening. It had never occurred to her that he would lose patience with her, that his adoration had limits.

They stopped on the street while Gavin and Colette walked on.

“Don’t be angry with me, Connie,” she whispered.

He took her hand into his and squeezed it. “I’m not, honey. I just . . . I want more for you. You deserve better.”

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