“I don’t know. It’s all very confusing. One minute she’s a witch who can get on my nerves like no one else; the next minute the only thing that stops me from jumping on her and tearing her clothes off is the violation of at least nine articles of the penal code.”
Charles, with the cue resting on his shoulders, in his typically indolent pose and the expression of someone who is not remotely surprised, shakes his head mockingly. “Is that so?”
“I can’t define the gray area we’re in.” Damn! I just shot at one of Bingley’s balls.
“Did she kiss you back?”
“What kind of question is that? Of course she kissed me back. Who are we talking about here?”
Bingley reaches across the table, aiming for the yellow billiard. “Was she active or passive?”
I retrace those few long and torrid moments in the cellar. “Active.” Damn, she was active. “Just that ...”
“Just, what?”
“Eh ... we still had more left to explore,” I say, my thumb and forefinger clutching the blue chalk. “But she stopped, said it was a mistake, and ran out.”
“What the hell did you do to her?” he asks me, amazed.
“Me? Nothing! Not yet, at least. I don’t know what happened.”
“The classic last-second change of heart,” says Charles, with a mock-pained tone.
“Oh, will you stop playing Dr. Strangelove?”
“If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t be here, talking to me, would you?”
“Guess not.”
“Change of heart about what?” a third voice interrupts. It’s Caroline, returning from the spa.
“Nothing. Charles is nervous about turbulence on his flight to New York,” I say. If there’s one person I want to keep out of my business, it’s her. “You know how much he hates flying.”
“I wouldn’t care if I had to fly in cargo,” says Caroline. “Landing in New York after this week in the middle of nowhere will be like coming back to earth.”
“At least one of us is happy about it,” Charles mutters, missing his shot.
“Why do you want to stay here?” she asks, dazed.
“Not why, but for whom,” I say.
She raises an eyebrow in confusion. “Is there something I should know?”
“No, but if you really must, I’m seeing someone, and it’s serious,” says Charles.
“Giada,” I point out.
Caroline bursts out laughing. “The wordsGiadaandseriouscannot be used in the same sentence. Charles, please, she’s so cheap!”
“You think anyone who doesn’t wear Dior from head to toe like you is cheap,” he dismisses her. “Plus, I’m the one who has to like her, not you.”
Caroline looks at me, annoyed. “Look, Michael, you’ve seen them together, what do you think?”
“I think our Charles has had a nice trip, as usual. You know how he is, right? He floats three feet off the ground, his eyes turn into hearts, he daydreams ...”
“Just because you’ve never been in love doesn’t give you the right to make fun of me,” he replies. “When it happens to you—when, not if—you’ll be even worse.”
“I doubt it.”
