Leah rested her back against the vent and smirked. "Speed has its uses, but I'd still choose grace over that any day." Not that she'd really had a choice. She was aware of her shortcomings as much as she was aware of her strengths, which was paramount when it came to fending off hordes. Evan was indeed the faster runner, quick to escape and avoid most attacks, but also somewhat blundering, as evidenced by his injury.
Over ten minutes into the conversation, and neither of them had raised their voice in anger. No doubt about it, something was definitely up. Marchand was goading her with less fervor than was usual, making the wheels turn in her head. Leah wasn't used to dissecting the inner workings of this guy's mind, nor did she want to. It would humanize him too much for her. They weren't friends. Never would be. End of story.
That was it; the next time she ventured out to a convenience store, she was grabbing every single carton of cigarettes she could find. Didn't matter which brand they were, as long as she had them. Leah couldn't honestly say that Evan was still taunting her with his stash of smokes. It still grated along her nerves that he had them and she didn't. Tipping back the bottle, she took another long swig, washing down some of her annoyance. "It's kinda like a morbid game of Hang Man. Except getting down to just the torso means you win."
Hearing Evan's comment about the champagne, Leah glanced up, quickly rearranging her expression. Happy wasn't an emotion she liked showing to anyone other than family. It made her feel vulnerable. She stared blankly back at Evan. "Well, at least you French people know something," she quipped, needing to reaffirm both to herself and Evan just where their relationship stood. They were reluctant partners. Not friends.
There was a strange glint in Evan's eyes that made Leah sit up straighter, her movements slow as if she were afraid of spooking him and causing him to attack. A piece of jewelry was the last thing she expected him to get all weird over, yet here he was, staring at the ring with a haunted expression. Her lips parted, ready to repeat the question of why he'd asked, when the man finally spoke.
"The ring is what?" For some reason, Leah didn't feel the urge to make a smart remark about the cat having his tongue. She raised her eyebrows expectantly.
At length, the explanation, vague though it was, came, and Leah sat back, the champagne bottle dangling between her hands. She hadn't expected that. There was a joke in there somewhere about what kind of woman would be brainless enough to marry him. Instead, Leah heard herself say, "You had a wife?" She'd seen members of Evan's family in passing, but never had she seen anyone who could be his wife. That only meant one thing.