“It’s all right,” I told Martin. This wasn’t how I’d planned to begin. I’d been simmering at the bar, turning over in my mind the best way to get the truth out of him. Since I’d spoken with Rachel, I hadn’t been able to shake the image of my sister and my ex together.

He let go of me and took half a step back. “You look absolutely beautiful, Lily. Like Ava in her prime in The Barefoot Contessa.”

“Thank you.”

“That dress is incredibly sexy. Vintage?”

“Yes, it is.” I was wearing a rioja-red silk number from the 1950s, low-cut with a narrow waist and full skirt. I’d traded my boots for black patent slingbacks and added a patterned shawl I’d bought in India. Before I could say anything else, Martin turned to the barman.

“Double scotch, neat.”

“No scotch,” said the barman. “White wine, red, sangria, cava.”

“Lily, you’ve brought me to a place that doesn’t serve alcohol?” Martin’s expression was incredulous. “I’d forgotten there was a reason I didn’t like it.” He turned back to the bar. “I’ll have whatever my girl is having.” The barman procured a champagne flute from under the bar and poured a glass of cava, sparkling white wine from Spain.

Martin drank it in one gulp. “Another, please,” he said. The barman gave him a what-the-hell look and poured him a second glass.

“Are you going to tell me what’s happened?” I asked.

Martin ran one hand through his hair. “Can’t I just say I want to forget about my afternoon?” I gave him a look. “Fine. I’ve been at a police station the past two hours.”

“Is that supposed to be funny?”

Martin took a gulp of cava. “No, Lily. The police were questioning Ridley.”

He looked me in the eye and I felt my heart softening. “What happened? Is he all right?”

“He’s fine. It’s a long story but the short version seems to be that Ridley wanted to get even with one of the bullies who’d tormented him at his last school. So he—allegedly—filled a box with wires and delivered it to the punk’s building.”

“A box of wires?” I crossed my legs and leaned forward slightly. “I don’t understand.”