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25
BEN ESCORTS ME TO THE DANCE FLOOR, PASSING OFF OURchampagne glasses to a waiter. Vaguely familiar faces and attractive people with perfect posture dance to the orchestral arrangement of a twenty-year-old soft rock song. He clasps my hand delicately in his and places his other at a polite height on my back. I imagine the sixty-year-old dance teacher who smacked his hands with a ruler until he was as light as a butterfly.
“You’re making a face,” he says, watching me.
“I’ve never danced like this. Not well anyway.” This is miles beyond a prom sway.
His brown eyes soften. “You’re doing fine.”
“Let’s make a deal? I won’t lock the doors and set the curtains on fire if you can manage to keep me from embarrassing myself.”
He breathes out a laugh. “I will venture to do my best. For Britain.”
After a verse or two, I start to get the hang of it. Ben’s a good dancer. Effortless. By the second song, I’ve forgotten to feel self-conscious while Ben narrates the gossip about the other guests. The British reality TV star who went to school with the bridegroom and whose father is now dating her ex-boyfriend. The queen’s second cousin, whose husband, it was recently revealed, spent the last three summers on a German billionaire’s private sex island.
“We’re all either on the brink of bankruptcy, sex scandal, or both,” Ben says with self-deprecating humor.
“All I did last night was wash my hair and watch TV. A scandal might be a nice change of pace.”
“Please, you’re welcome to meet with my lawyers next Thursday if you like. Perhaps you can explain to me why I’m paying them so much to tell me I’m broke.”
A while later, Lee finds us on the dance floor. His eyes are wide and bright, whatever news he’s harboring practically tearing past his lips. “Can I borrow her?”
Ben steps back. “By all means. I’ll see if I can’t locate the lavatory. There are nearly eighty, I’m told.”
Lee takes Ben’s place, hugging me close as he wraps his arm around my waist and sets a quicker rhythm to his step. He’s buzzing with energy.
“Having fun?” I tease.
“I’m in love.”
“That was quick. Have you and Colin set a date yet?”
Lee recoils. “The boxer? God no. I’m in love with Eric.”
“Poor Colin. He was cute.”
“And we shared a beautiful moment in one of the eighty bathrooms. But I can’t listen to that accent for the rest of my life. And then, my dear Abbey, I met Eric,” he says with a yearning that is almost lewd. “His family builds yachts.”
“It’s everything you’ve always wanted.”
“Like, okay, I know I sound like a shallow bitch. He does have other qualities. He likes jazz and nature documentaries.”
Neither of which I’ve ever seen Lee express an interest in. “Whatever makes you happy.”
“What about you?” he asks as we rock back and forth in our little circle of the dance floor. “Shall I start calling you Lady Tulley?”
“Definitely not. I mean, Ben’s great company. But this isn’t a date. It’s practically a business meeting.”
Lee raises one eyebrow.
“What?”
“Hey, I’m thrilled to mooch off your new friendship. Don’t get me wrong. I’m just saying, men like that don’t bring beautiful young women to a bloody palace for what is essentially a homework assignment.”
“I hear what you’re saying. And in any other case, I’d say you’re right. But I think he’s genuinely interested in discovering more about his family. He’s invested in the mystery.”
“Maybe. If not, you shoutcranberry, and I’ll pull a fire alarm.”
