Page 27 of Masquerade

“It wasnota date.” Although she hadn’t found a definition for what it was. A truce?

“Did he slurp his soup?”

Kate giggled. “We ate at Tony’s—pasta and salad and a single glass of wine. Someone taught him table manners.”

And how to kiss a woman so she forgot her own name.

“What did Tony think?” Anna was familiar with Tony’s penchant for matchmaking.

“He’s named our first bambino.” Kate hesitated a fraction of a second too long.

“Maybelline, you’re smiling. Now, spill.”

“You know I said he’d probably never be seen dead in the romance aisle of a bookshop?” Kate whispered.

Ridiculous to be whispering.

“You maligned him on so many fronts I’m surprised his ears aren’t still ringing.”

“He spent the time waiting for me to finish work checking out the special romance writers’ display. Said he knew most of the authors. Said his mum made him and Niall read romances to them when she drove them to sport fixtures as kids. Said he often checked out up-and-coming authors as a present for his mum,” Kate blurted out Liam’s every shocking revelation, except for him murmuring fantasies in the half-light while they learned each other’s shape.

Anna giggled, then chuckled, then let loose with a deep belly laugh.

“It’s not that funny.” Kate frowned, glad she’d kept the mature-audience rated part of the evening private.

“Sorry. You’ve always said there are men who appreciate romance.” Anna subsided.

“Just never in our circle.”

Never anyone I’ve kissed.

“Has Niall talked about romance novels?”

“Well, no.” Her sister drew out the last word. “I have a paranoid sister, so when anyone starts talking about romance novels, I disarm, distract and move on. Besides, I met Niall at uni. We only had art history in common. His major interest was wood; he was particularly fascinated by the craftsmanship in art frames.” Anna shook her head. “When he took a particularly deep dive, I said it was my turn to buy the beers.”

“Then Liam may be lying.” Kate had learned suspicion at her father’s knee.

“Why?” Anna reached across the space to take her hand.

“Because people do.”

“That’s a statement of the bleeding obvious, honey, and you’re not obvious.” Her sister squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry I didn’t read Andrew right, but not every man’s like him.”

“Not your fault. Romance is possibly the most despised genre there is.”

Andrew had hoarded his discovery of Kate’s distress at her father’s disgust and tried to use it to bring her to heel.

“Nah. I reckon westerns are more despised, whereas romance is the most loved genre.” Her sister leaned back, hesitated then pushed ahead. “Dad called today.”

“I can see how a date with your friend Oliver might trigger thoughts of Dad.” Kate wriggled further back into her corner.

“Dad asked about you,” Anna hurried on. “I told him you’re busy with the library and private research. I mentioned Clelland and Associates. He knows the company. He was impressed.”

During the early, heady years of his critical success, her father had slipped in and out of the bedrooms of actresses, artists and anyone who caught his fancy. He’d been indifferent to his daughters’ interests or activities. Kate had stumbled on historical romance and found a safe place.

“That’ll be a first.” Kate’s interest in romance wasn’t just a disappointment to her father; it was shameful.

“He said Mum’s buried in deadlines.”

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