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“I’m not sure what you’re trying to get at, Elizabeth.”
“Did you love her?”
“No.”
I grimace. “Wow, you answered that quickly.”
“Should I have lied? You asked a question and I gave you an honest answer.”
I hold my hands up in innocence, deciding to drop it.
Then we turn another corner and settle back into a rather uncomfortable silence, at least on my end. Walt’s probably forgotten I’m even in the limo with him. In fact, I think he’s already moved on from our entire conversation, until he adds, “By the way, what we shared wasn’t really a kiss.”
I whip back around to face him. “Are you kidding? Yes it was!”
He shrugs. “Agree to disagree.”
I lean closer to him, trying to steal his attention back from his phone. “Your lips touched mine, Walt. What was that if not a kiss?”
He glances back to me as if really thinking it over. “I’m not sure.” Then he shrugs. “I’d show you the difference, but you threatened divorce.”
I hate that he’s taunting me right now with his dimples and his half-smile.
I narrow my eyes and lean toward him. “That’s right, and don’t you forget it.”
His gaze falls to my lips at the exact moment Alexander slams on the brakes.
I jerk forward and Walt reaches for me instinctively, gripping my arm to keep me from tumbling off the seat.
“Sorry!” Alexander shouts from the front. “Idiot cut into my lane.”
“Are you all right?” Walt asks me.
“Yes. I barely moved. You can take your hand off my arm now.”
“I will when you let go of it.”
I glance down to see my fingers are wrapped around his forearm with a viselike grip. Right.
Embarrassed, I drop my hand, and then he loosens his hold on me.
I brush the sleeve of my jacket as if to say, Nothing to see here.
“The museum is just up ahead,” Alexander calls back.
I gather my things and straighten my clothes to prepare to exit the limo. The vehicle comes to a gentle stop, and Walt thanks his driver before opening the door. There are a few camera flashes as I step out beside Walt, enough to make me try to blink away the fleeting blindness.
Walt wraps his arm around my waist to guide me, and I tense in surprise.
He ushers me forward, up the steps of the Natural History Museum and along a small step and repeat. An event organizer begs us to stop for a photo, and Walt obliges her by tucking me in beside him and telling me to smile under his breath.
I do just as he asks, pinning on the brightest smile I can muster before we’re whisked through the entrance of the museum.
“Good evening. May I have your name?” another event organizer asks at the door.
“Mr. and Mrs. Walter Jennings II.”
The organizer scrolls down his iPad until he pauses and his eyes widen at his screen. “Yes. Wonderful. We’re so happy the two of you are with us tonight. You’ll find your place cards at the distinguished donors table.” Then he waves to an attendant. “Kenneth, would you please escort Mr. and Mrs. Walter Jennings II to their seats?”
Walt interjects with a shake of his head. “That won’t be necessary. We’ll find them easily enough.”
The organizer smiles in confirmation. “Good. Of course. In that case, you’ll find coat check over there and hors d’oeuvres just inside. Dinner will begin in half an hour.”
Once we’re out of earshot, Walt leans down to whisper in my ear.
“Don’t make your hatred for me so plainly obvious every time I touch you.”
“What? I don’t!” I say with an insistent scowl.
“You practically jump out of your skin every time.”
“Because it’s surprising!”
“It shouldn’t be. Here, turn and let me take your coat.”
“I can do it myself.”
“Elizabeth, I swear—”
His sentence cuts off when I turn abruptly and start unbuttoning my coat without his help. When I’m done, I shrug it off my shoulders and let him do the rest. He tugs a tad too hard getting it off me, and I shoot him an angry glare over my shoulder.
Then he passes off our outerwear and accepts a small coat check ticket from the attendant. I turn to face him, and he looks back at me and freezes, making me worry something is wrong. I look down at my dress, but once I find nothing out of the ordinary, I look over my shoulder, searching in the crowd for someone noteworthy behind me.
“It’s the dress,” he tells me, stepping forward. “Now give me your hand and try not to look too annoyed about it.”
I reach for his hand first, trying to prove to him I can be a team player. My fingers tighten around his, but he doesn’t accept that arrangement. He quickly resettles us so that my hand is tucked gently inside his, and then he tugs me forward.
“What about the dress?” I ask as we pass through the crowded foyer.
