The Red Bikini by Lauren Christopher Page B

“Giselle—I didn’t say that. You’re beautiful. And smart. And sophisticated as hell. So I figure he must have some redeeming qualities. But right now, he just seems like an asshole. That’s all I’m saying.” He took another bite.
    Giselle started to respond, but then closed her mouth. Fin was right. Roy did seem like a jerk. But he
did
have some redeeming qualities when she met him. And what did a twenty-eight-year-old who played in the ocean for a living know about what you searched for in a good marriage, anyway? She wanted a good father, of course. Someone who was solid . . . secure . . . certain of his future . . . Of course, Roy had turned out not to be
any
of those things. . . .
    And did Fin just say she was beautiful?
    She dragged her napkin back across her lap.
    “So tell me why he didn’t like Lia,” Fin said.
    Giselle shook her head.
    Fin finished one of his tacos and took another long sip of his drink. He pushed his plate back. “I want to know,” he said.
    Giselle paused, but then shook her head again. “It’ll only make him seem like more of a jerk.”
    “Try me,” he said tightly.
    “It’s not wise.”
    He busied himself with the salsa on his plate. “So was I right about why you married him?”
    “For money?”
    He smirked. “I didn’t say that, Giselle. I said he was probably smart. Secure.”
    Giselle sat straighter in her chair. She didn’t know, now, whether she’d made the right decisions. Maybe she had married Roy for the wrong reasons. Maybe she should have waited for those goose bumps, not pinned her sights on what seemed like security. Or fatherly material.
    “Maybe these questions are too personal, after all,” she said.
    “Well, I figure—being the new lover and all—I should know some of these things.”
    Giselle’s face flushed. She rearranged her napkin again. She didn’t want Fin to make fun of her. She didn’t want his pity, or anyone else’s.
    “Giselle,” he said, putting his taco down. “I’m sorry. I’m trying to lighten the mood here, but—”
    “I married him because I thought he’d be a good father,” she blurted.
    His expression registered surprise—clearly, he’d thought that line of questioning was over. But now he searched her face. “And
is
he?”
    Giselle managed to maintain eye contact for five full seconds before the tears stung her eyes. She shook her head. She’d been wrong on so many levels. She’d never been able to admit it to her mother, or her sisters, or her friends, or even herself:
She’d made a terrible decision
. Roy was a terrible husband. And a terrible father. And rather than facing that truth, or even admitting it, she’d kept living in denial. As the ugly honesty of the situation hit her, she tried to avert her eyes as a couple of tears escaped.
    “Wait,” Fin said. “No, don’t cry. . . . I’m sorry.” His hand moved across the table, but before he touched her, he seemed to think better of it. “Please.” He found a napkin to hand her. “I brought you here so you could get your thoughts together and . . . Damn, don’t cry.”
    She dabbed at her eyes with the paper napkin. He was right. This was no time to fall apart. She lifted her eyelashes to one of the surfboards hanging from the ceiling to let the tears well back down. Criminy, what was the matter with her? She didn’t even know this guy. And here she was, crying all over her tacos.
    “Let’s talk about something else.” His voice was laced with desperation.
    She nodded again.
    “You steer—what do you feel comfortable talking about right now?”
    She kept her focus on the board—Fin’s autograph was on that one, too, along with Laird Hamilton’s. She took a deep breath. “Surfing.”
    An expression of surprise crossed his face.
    She poked at her taco with her fork and pushed some lettuce around. “Tell me how you learned,” she added, her voice still wobbly. “Where, when, why.”
    She figured this conversation would