Page 8 of My Husband Problem

“I…um…”

“She prefers Sauternes,” Declan says.

Everyone turns to look at him.

“Which is absolutely right in character for Astrid,” he adds.

I don’t know what that means.

Sauternes is a sweet wine that is relatively expensive and somewhat rare. It’s not common on most restaurant menus in the US and is usually paired only with desserts and served after dinner.

What does ‘absolutely right in character for Astrid’ mean?

Probably that I’m high maintenance. The grapes for Sauternes are hand-picked, and it’s produced in only one specific region of the world.

It’s also produced from grapes that are afflicted with ‘noble rot’.

Hmm…

I don’t expect most of the room to know that, but I’m certain Declan O’Grady knows about the fungus-infested grapes used to make the wine.

No one says anything. Certainly, no one argues. A few people nod, though, as if this is a wonderful answer.

Which is hilarious.

I don’t think there’s a lot of Sauternes served in Rebel. It’s pretty weak compared to most of the drinks people in Louisiana prefer. Even their Bloody Marys kick my butt.

But I’m too surprised to laugh, or even smile.

Because how does Declan know what I drink?

I’m not a big drinker at all. That comes from literal decades of training as a world-class athlete who had to worry about everything I put in my body. Now it’s because I take pain medications that don’t play nice with alcohol.

And yeah, because I just don’t like a lot of it.

So again, how does Declan know theonevery specific kind of rare wine I do like?

“Okay, everybody, calm the fuck down,” Bruce grumbles. “Everybody’s getting shrimp and whatever else I’ve got. If you don’t like that, you can go. Door’s right there.”

No one makes a move to get up, but everyone straightens and faces forward in their seats, and more importantly, stops staring at my husband.

I sigh. “So you don’t really need my vote then?”

There’s apparently not actually a point to the taste testing—and taste bud torturing—I’ve done. That’s pretty typical around here. And I should be used to it. The town does a lot of “just for fun” and “we’re just getting together” activities. Which I suppose are purposes and goals in and of themselves.

“I tried to tell you that this wasn’t a big deal when you begged for my spot on the judging panel,” Muriel calls out to me.

I wince. That was supposed to be our secret.

I look at Declan again. Now both his brows are arched. So he caught that.

“Mrs. O’Grady?” he asks, extending a hand. “A word?”

I do not like the way my stomach flips over at the Mrs. O’Grady thing.

I am Mrs. O’Grady in name only.

And if our grandfathers had not been powerful, rich, eccentric—that’s very important—men who always got their way and drank way too much whiskey when they were together, we wouldn’t be in this situation at all.