An Open Relationship? Fine Meet My New Boyfriend novel · Chapter 1 of 24
Chapter 1: Happy Anniversary
At Lumière, Trevor asks for an open relationship; Eliza says fine and introduces the stranger at the next table as her boyfriend. He asks her never to give Trevor his last name.
Trevor waited until the waiter had cleared the burrata plate before he took my hand.
We were at Lumière, the restaurant with the eight-week waitlist.
He had booked our table a month ago and told me it was for our third anniversary.
I had spent the afternoon at the salon and put on the silk slip dress he likes.
In the car, I had practiced my surprised face in the dark window.
Because tonight was supposed to be the night.
For two weeks he had been jumpy and secretive, turning his phone face down and smiling at it when he thought I wasn't looking.
At seven, my best friend had texted me: "Whatever he says tonight, say yes. Trust him. He's been planning this for weeks."
I believed her. She had never once steered me wrong.
At the next table, a man sat alone with a folder beside his plate.
He had two glasses of water and a bowl of pasta he hadn't touched.
Trevor ran his thumb over my knuckles.
He does the weather on Channel 6, and he has a gentle voice for bad news.
"I love you, Eliza," he said. "That's why I'm telling you before anything else happens."
"Before what happens?"
"I met someone in the spring. I like her a lot. I don't want to stop seeing her, and I don't want to lose you."
He squeezed my hand.
"So I think we should open the relationship."
Behind us, a woman's fork hit her plate.
At the next table, the man with the folder looked up.
I kept my surprised face exactly where I had practiced it.
It still fit. Only the reason had changed.
"You're the most mature person I know," Trevor said. "I knew you'd understand."
His phone lit up beside the bread basket.
A yellow heart and a single letter.
He turned it face down without looking away from me, and he smiled at it anyway.
"Say something," he said.
I looked at his hand on mine.
Three years. A shared lease, a shared couch, a joint account for the someday we were saving for.
So I said it.
"Fine."
Trevor blinked. "Fine?"
"Fine. Open it is. You said it's the mature thing."
His shoulders came down. He smiled at me, relieved and a little proud.
"I knew you'd get it. Thank you, babe. You're amazing."
"I do have one request."
"Anything."
"I'd like you to meet my boyfriend."
He laughed. It was a short laugh, the kind he uses when a viewer calls in with a bad joke.
"Eliza."
I turned my head.
The man with the folder was already looking at me.
He was tall, in a dark wool coat, with dark hair that needed a cut and grey eyes that did not move.
I raised my eyebrows. Please.
He set his fork down, stood up and walked to our table.
"Sorry I'm late, babe," he said. "Parking's a nightmare."
He stopped beside my chair and put his hand on my jaw.
I tilted my face up.
He kissed me.
It was not a polite kiss. His mouth was warm and certain, and he took his time.
My hand closed on the front of his coat.
Somebody behind us gasped, and I did not care which of them it was.
He pulled back an inch. "Hi," he said, so quietly that only I heard it.
Then he straightened and held out his hand to Trevor. "Cillian."
Trevor stared at it. "Trevor Ames."
"I know. You do the weather."
"Seven-day forecast, six and eleven," Trevor said. He says it automatically, even in his sleep.
"Rain on Sunday," Cillian said. "I caught it."
"Eliza, this is a stunt," Trevor said. "Sit down."
"You asked me to be mature."
The waiter had arrived with the dessert menus. He stopped where he was.
"We'll need the check," I told him. "Put the whole table on his card. He booked it a month ago."
I stood. Cillian held my coat open and I slid my arms in.
"Eliza," Trevor said, louder. "We live together."
"Then I'll see you at home," I said. "We're open, remember?"
His phone lit up again. He didn't turn it over this time.
Outside, the air was cold and the street was wet.
Cillian kept hold of my hand all the way to the corner.
"You can let go," he said.
"I know."
I let go. My fingers were shaking, and I put them in my coat pockets.
"Thank you. I'm sorry. I don't know you at all."
"Cillian. And you're Eliza. Trevor said your name four times in there."
My phone buzzed. Dani: "WELL?? Is there a ring??"
I turned it face down.
I had planned to go home and cry in the tub until the water got cold.
Instead I looked through the restaurant window, where Trevor was standing over our empty table with his phone to his ear.
"He said open," I told Cillian. "Open means I can have a boyfriend. I'd like to keep you for a month."
He didn't laugh. He looked at Trevor through the glass.
"All right," he said. "On one condition."
"Anything."
"He never gets my last name. Not from you, not from your friends. If he asks, I'm Cillian and that's all."
"Are you married?"
"No."
He didn't say why, and he didn't look at me when he said it.
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