My head dropped, and I stared self-consciously at my hands. I certainly didn’t want to offend him, but I didn’t want to lie either. “Yeah, well, you know all those magazines you tend to haunt? Vanity Fair, Rolling Stone, Us Weekly...”
He flushed a bit but nodded, waiting to hear what else I had to say.
I quickly downed the rest of my champagne before nervously concluding, “I subscribe to The London Economic Review, for goodness sake.”
There was a beat of silence before that sparkling laughter rang out once more. I was so worried about how my disinterest might be taken, but it seemed James couldn’t have been more pleased.
“I guess the more I think about it, I did read something about a brother. But it didn’t say twin brother. And it said you didn’t take any direct part with the company and that you traveled around the globe.”
“So it downplayed me?”
“Well, yes.”
“Good. That’s the way I like it. My father downplays me on purpose. Hired an entire team to hide me. You see, dear Della, I bring too much embarrassment to the company. So I’m rarely brought up or mentioned. He designs the articles so no one gives me another thought. I guess he was really upset with all my Instagram antics.”
“I saw you were dubbed ‘King of Instagram’ last year with all those snaps of stunning women, white sand beaches, palm trees, and all those adventurous travel pics. My favorite one was when you were swimming with sharks.”
He chuckled. “It was quite the adventure. But I’m afraid somebody new has stolen my crown now. And now that I met you, that’s the way I like it.”
“You just might be growing up,” I said.
He laughed. “I just might.”
I took a sip of my drink. “But really. I should’ve known who you were. I’m sorry. I should’ve researched you more. Looked for a photo or something. Do you forgive me?”
“Yes.”
He was still smiling when the door opened again and a silver tray was set on the table before us, overflowing with plump, ripe strawberries and a silver gravy boat of melted chocolate.
I looked down in surprise. Considering how formal the place was, I expected them to follow a certain order in meal service: appetizers, salads, soups, and entrées. I wondered about the lack of legendary English decorum.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I asked them to bring out the strawberries first.” James dipped one ceremoniously in the molten chocolate, then held it in the air between us, offering a silent invitation with a twinkling smile. “I have a bit of a sweet tooth.”
“Yeah, you kind of made that clear before,” I thought and couldn’t help but giggle as I recalled our pastry fight.
Chapter 8
THE REST OF DINNER really was like something out of a dream, a moonlit fantasy complete with twinkling stars painting the arching window in a silvery glow, while everything inside was the soft yellow haze of what seemed like a million tiny tealights. I was utterly bewitched, entranced, and completely overwhelmed with the magic of it all. Of course, it wasn’t just the staggering view, the mouth-watering food, or the champagne that had my head spinning. Mostly, it was the man sitting across the table.
Every moment was perfection, every motion dipped in grace, every freeze-framed smile a work of art. I could count on one hand the number of times I’d actually seen the man, yet I could already tell that one of my favorite things in the world was the sound of James’s laugh.
It just didn’t seem real, not at all possible that I, of all people, could be there with him. Out of all the girls in all the countries of the world, I was the one he was sitting across from. I was the one he was smiling at. Even better, as drunk as I was from the mere sight of him, the last thing James wanted was to talk about himself.
“Tell me again about this librarian,” he said, his eyes sparkling with curiosity as he leaned across the table with a grin. “Mrs. Fletcher was her name, no?”
I stifled a dramatic shudder and emptied my third glass of champagne. “Mrs. Filbert.”
“Ah, Filbert. Like the nut?”
I laughed again. “You got that right! That woman was a literary troll in her own right, but that’s not why I avoided the route past the library. It was more about that vicious mutt of hers. That was the real bitch.”
I suddenly realized that James was one of those people who was good at drawing things out, at stirring up long-ago memories that seemed insignificant until he asked about them. I had no idea how strongly I felt about Mrs. Filbert and her pesky pooch, and speaking to him about it made me feel strangely indifferent when I told him the story aloud. That was how it always was with James.
We talked about literally everything, focusing mostly on me. I regaled him with my woes about my third grade yearbook photos to my all-nighters with my nose in the books for business school to the time I was arrested for skinny-dipping in the town fountain after prom. By the end of our conversation, he knew my favorite snack foods—with Doritos at the top of the list, of course—the movies that scared me most, and the craziest friends I’d ever had. No stone was left unturned, no detail too small to share. Ultimately, I was fairly sure James knew more about me than my own mother did, but even more than that, he was actually interested, in little ol’ me, of all things.
I was surprised that I was so willing to open up to him, as I’d never really liked talking about myself. In my twenty-odd years on the planet, I had made a habit of being the listener rather than the talker. I was always the shoulder to cry on, not the girl who would easily pout her heart and soul over a table of empty cocktail glasses. It was even rare for me to share so much with Madison, but it was flat-out unheard of that I would even attempt the same thing with a man. With James, though, I was an open book, a talking diary. I walked both of us down my version of Memory Lane, disclosing my struggles and hopes, dreams and nightmares, the good, the bad, and the ugly, with James all the while prompting me, offering a stream of unending questions.
By the time the waiters came round to collect our plates, I was actually a bit hoarse. Time had completely escaped me, and I had no idea how late it was till one of the servers whispered discreetly in James’s ear that it was almost closing time for the restaurant.