‘Mona Lisa,’ I stated, pointing. ‘Look at her. That’s a woman who needs a break. She’s not even impressed by Jay-Z and Beyoncé.’

‘Excellent code word,’ he said and laughed. ‘Yes! I can’t stand the way you chew your bread so I’m going to go and Mona Lisa.’

‘Your inability to check out at the supermarket without talking to the cashier for twenty minutes is really grinding my gears. Let’s have a Mona Lisa afternoon.’

‘The hacking up of your morning phlegm as my wake-up call is too much. I need breakfast à la Mona Lisa.’

‘I do actually do that,’ I admitted, sheepishly. Alexander had always hated it. ‘The morning phlegm thing – I’m a very mucous-y person. I blow my nose a lot. I have used tissues in the pocket of every item of clothing I own.’

‘I’ll remember that when I try to borrow your bikini.’

‘I can treat you to a new swimsuit,’ I jokingly offered. ‘Your hips are narrower than mine. We can get you one of those thong ones with the string.’

‘Ooooh!’ he trilled. ‘Where one little tug of the fabric and poof! Off it comes!’

A thought suddenly hit me. ‘I mean, what if that happens?’ I asked.

‘What?’

‘What if you meet somebody, and you want to go and—’

‘Take my bikini off with them?’

‘The situation could arise. Cute Englishman and all that, getting hit on left and right because of your accent.’

He shook his head. ‘No, Annie. I’d be a pretty bad friend if I ditched you on your honeymoon for a shag. I’m not in the market for that. I don’t really do relationships. It’s a non-issue. These next three weeks are about you, me and the open road, okay?’

I don’t do relationships, he’d said. I’d have to follow up on who hurt him. I wanted to know. Who would let a kind, funny gem of a man like Patrick go? I’d bet she still stalked him online or through friends, kicking herself for being so careless. Whoever it was, she’d obviously done a number on him. Any time he’d even come close to mentioning his ex his face clouded over in a sudden storm and his entire body seemed to slump into itself, however momentarily. It happened quickly, but without a doubt it always did.

‘Can I pull the jilted bride card and make you steal some magazines for me?’ I asked, trying to keep the mood upbeat. I finished my glass and waved at the waiter for two more.

‘They’re free, so it doesn’t feel I’m being too subversive in undertaking that task,’ he replied, standing. ‘Any requests?’

‘Nothing with a happy couple on the front,’ I said. ‘And nothing political. Just single girl fluff, please,’ I concluded, and as he headed over to the rack it hit me once again: single girl.