Tonight, Zoe wasn’t wearing the halter-neck dress. She appeared in figure-hugging jeans and a blue cotton blouse that set off the topaz in her beautiful irises. After declining a glass of wine, she sat next to me, shooting me a look from under her dark lashes. Mrs K arrived with our starter course, a fresh vegetable salad made with cucumbers, tomatoes and onions. She served us and returned to the kitchen. I swirled the wine in my glass. “I’m sorry if I was a little abrupt when we said goodnight yesterday.” “Abrupt? You were more than abrupt.” Her eyes flashed. “You were downright rude.” “I’m not a nice man. I don’t do ‘nice’. I can’t.” “Why?” Ever forthright. “If I show any weakness, I’ll be finished.” I lifted my fork and speared a tomato. She took a sip of water. “Being nice isn’t the same as being weak, I don’t think.” “You are right, rybka. It isn’t.” I shook my head. “I guess I’ve just gotten out of the habit.” She chewed some salad and swallowed. “Were you horrible to your wife? Is that why you got divorced?” “None of your concern,” I snapped, slamming my hand down on the table. Dishes rattled and the water in Zoe’s glass sloshed over the edge. She shot me a withering look. “There you go again, being a prick. I’m only trying to understand you, Taras.”