It’s alright, I tell myself. This has nothing to do with wanting to touch him again. I’m getting into character.Supportive girlfriend, remember?
“Besides, if there’s one thing I learned recently, it’s that people can surprise you,” I continue, “and maybe he can, too.”
When Lewis reaches for my hand, my belly tumbles into alittle swoop, even if all he does is tuck my arm into the crook of his elbow. I really need to get a grip, mind over matter and all that stuff, otherwise the next ten days will be an exquisite form of torture for my touch-deprived body.
“As much as it pains me to say this, Dr. Silberstein, I think you may be right. Shall we?”
Leaving the alcove on his arm, I widen my eyes in fake astonishment. “Look at you, agreeing with me for once! Who would’ve thought that he, the man they call Dr. Theodore Lewis North, the one who’s always right, was capable of uttering those words.”
He lets out an exasperated sigh as he tugs me closer. “Jesus, maybe I do want to make a run for it.”
Chapter Thirteen
What do you think? Fourth marriage or fifth?” I whisper behind my flute of champagne, tilting my chin in the direction of a middle-aged guy with a thick gray mustache as he shuffles by. “Or first, but secret, affair with the help?”
Lewis coughs mid-sip, and I remove my hand from his arm to softly pat his back. The boat must’ve departed more than fifteen minutes ago, yet Lewis doesn’t seem like he’s in a hurry to look for his family. As we toss down glasses of sparkling wine and sample the various bites, I resort to guessing the attendants’ scandals, hoping this will soothe him ahead of the inevitable reunion.
When a tray with bite-size puff pastry pockets floats by, I pluck one off and pop it into my mouth. Across from us, an older woman talks to what must be one of Ben’s friends, judging by his age. “Interesting… a lady friend,” I observe as she squeezes his shoulder. Based on what Lewis told me, the personal drama in these social circles tends to be a little less juicy than whatGossip Girlhas led me to believe, so it’s likely she’s simply the mother of a childhood friend. But he’s finally loosening up, so I keep the outrageous ideas coming.
Lewis hands his empty glass to a waiter. “She actually dealt drugs when we were in school,” he notes, tipping his temple toward a woman in a modest two-piece suit. The brown color of her ensemble makes her look unfavorably pale, but I do another take at the down-turned corners of her mouth.
“Really?”
The glimmer in Lewis’s eyes tells me he was joking. I’m relieved he’s finally relaxing, but before I can respond, a small shape hurtles at us and collides with his legs.
“Uncle Teddy!” the girl exclaims. I check if anybody is with her, but she seems to be on her own. She’s maybe six or seven years old and her sparkly outfit makes me like her instantly. Velvety green trousers, a white shirt, deep purple patent leather shoes, and, my favorite detail, a black-and-white-striped top hat. She looks like she whisked here after her shift as a circus magician.
Lewis folds himself around her, bending at the hip to lift up the girl. “You’re so much bigger than in the camera!”
She wrinkles her nose. “Not enough.”
“Has Dani grown taller than you, again?” he asks her.
“One inch,” she grumbles. Her hair is the same shade as Lewis’s, although much curlier, and their smiles are identical, if you ignore her two missing front teeth. She must be Alice, his niece.
“Where did you leave your mom?” Lewis clutches her with one arm, removes the hat, and deposits it on his own head.
Alice flaps her hand toward the window front. “Somewhere over there.” When she spots me, she twists around in his arms, blue eyes zeroing in on me. “Who are you?”
“Frances,” I introduce myself and hold out my hand. She considers it skeptically. “I’m your uncle’s girlfriend,” I say, to which she puckers her lips.
Tough crowd.
“Girlfriend,” she repeats and turns in Lewis’s arms. “Why do you have a girlfriend?”
He sets her down and the way he crouches to her height warms me up from within. “Because she’s wonderful,” he says.
“Hm.”
“And smart,” Lewis continues, squeezing her elbow. “And I like spending time with her.” He sounds almost sincere enough to convince me, too. It tickles a small smile out of me.
“Okay.” She frowns at him. “Is Miss Frances in danger?”
“What? Why would she be in danger?” Then, he cups a hand around her ear, and leans in to whisper something I can’t catch.
“Ooh, okay. Well, Mom saidDoctorFrances must be part of a witness production program—”
“Witness protection program?” Lewis interjects.
