The One in My Heart (7 page)

And other than laughing it off, what response could I give? If I said I believed it, I would come across as hopelessly naive. If I said I didn’t believe a word of it, then why did I bother to ask? Even laughing it off would at best be an awkward recovery from a full-blown faux pas.

So I said instead, “Do you really sleep on the chaise when you come back from the hospital?”

“When I’m on call.”

“So you just sit here and…spank the monkey?”

“You know what happened one time? I had two days off and slept the night in my bed. The next morning I came down, grabbed some breakfast, and sat down to read the news, and ten minutes later I had an erection the size of the Empire State Building. I’ve turned myself into Pavlov’s dog.”

“Now you have to stay away from the masturbation couch the rest of the time?”

“I might have to move it somewhere else. Imagine if I had a party and accidentally sat down on it.”

We were still laughing when the oven chimed to let us know that our soup was ready. But my laughter sounded a little brittle in my own ears.

Bennett set the table and served a salad for the first course. “By the way, Zelda showed me the picture with you in a tiara. Pretty breathtaking.”

“Thanks. I usually deny that I’m the one in the picture, since in person I look like a halfhearted knockoff.”

“Really? The first time I saw you, you looked almost exactly like that.”

My brows shot up. “When I was out walking Biscuit in Cos Cob?”

“No, I first saw you in Central Park last summer, at a wedding.”

I looked at him in surprise—I’d indeed attended a wedding in Central Park the past summer.

“I went for a run in the park and I was walking back when a wedding party came over the bridge. And when they all passed by, you were there at the other end of the bridge, looking down into the water.”

“Oh,” I said, more than a little unnerved. “I didn’t notice anyone.”

Weddings sometimes got to me. Despite the divorce rate, it was still even odds for the bride and groom to make it all the way, to become one of those white-haired, affectionate couples I envied and admired so much. And that day in Central Park was one of those occasions when I looked into my own future and saw nothing but loneliness.

“No, I don’t expect you did,” he said softly. “The water under the bridge was exceptionally interesting.”

We were quiet for some time. I worked diligently on my salad, though I didn’t taste much of anything. And then I asked, as much to fill the silence as out of curiosity, “And how’s work for you?”

He took a sip of his water. “I feel like I can perform a lobectomy in my sleep these days.”

“That’s the removal of a lobe of a lung, right?”

“Uh-hmm. Between Thanksgiving and when I left for Guatemala, we had a string of patients who needed the procedure. There were a couple of cardiac procedures too, a valve replacement and a transmyocardial revascularization.”

“I’m almost more impressed that you can say it than that you can do it.”

“I told you, pinnacle of modern manhood.”

This had me smiling again, despite myself.

We made more small talk as we polished off bowls of leek-and-potato soup. Then, during a lull in the conversation, he cleared the table and brought out poached pear halves. I sensed we were about to get down to business.

“So tell me why you’ve been stalking Zelda.”

And why you’ve been Googling me so hard.

Bennett poured me half a glass of dessert wine before sitting down again. “When you first called me about Biscuit, you said something like, ‘This is Evangeline Canterbury, Collette Woolworth’s house sitter.’ Your name rang a bell, but it was only when I was on the train Saturday morning, going back to the city, after we’d…”

“Done it against a wall,” I offered.

“Yes, that.” He looked at me with an expression that was almost a smile, but not quite.

An expression that caused a flash of intense heat low in my abdomen.

“Right,” I said briskly. “So that was when you finally figured out why my name was familiar. I’m surprised you were able to. When Zelda first brought you up as ‘the Somerset boy,’ I drew a complete blank.”

“I might have done the same if my mom hadn’t kept repeating to herself, the last time we were all together in one place, ‘I can’t believe we left poor Evangeline Canterbury in the lurch.’”

He had a faraway gaze, as if reliving the chaos, acrimony, and heartache of that day. Then he shook his head. “Anyway, after I moved back east I realized I didn’t have a strategy in place. When I left, I cut my ties pretty thoroughly. I don’t have anyone here who can serve as a liaison, to ease me back into my parents’ social circle. And I need someone like that before I can start the process.”

I dipped a piece of pear in the pool of chocolate sauce at the center of the plate. “I hate to sound like a broken record. But if you are serious about reuniting with your family—and you must be to have moved three thousand miles—you can just pick up the phone.”

For a long moment he said nothing. Then, “I can’t.”

Something about those two words, a certain rawness, perhaps, made my chest constrict.

But your mother is waiting for you to call
, I almost answered. Then I remembered what Zelda had said:
The real rupture is between the boy and his father.
For all that Frances Somerset had been open about her own desire to hear from her prodigal son, she’d been resolutely silent on her husband’s sentiments.

Now the purpose of the liaison was clear. “So you want a reconciliation, but you want it on your own terms—no apologies, no olive branches held out, no appearing at all as if you actually came to make amends.”

He exhaled. “It’s scary how accurately you’re reading me, but yes, exactly. I want everything to seem organic.”

“And that’s where Zelda comes in?”

“No, that’s where you come in.”

I stared at him, a forkful of pear hovering before me.

“For me to cultivate friendships that have been dormant for fifteen years would be both too obvious and too cynical. A girlfriend is a much better idea: A brand-new girlfriend is still a legitimate girlfriend.”

I set down my fork and took a swig of the dessert wine. “I’m not your girlfriend.”

But did he want me to be?

He looked at me, his gaze clear yet…impersonal. It struck me just how much I’d deluded myself with my Munich fantasy. I didn’t know him. I didn’t know him at all.

Then his expression softened—and something came over me, a sense of sweetness and wonder. But only for a fraction of a second. When he spoke again, he was all business.

“We don’t need to apply labels if that’ll trip you up.”

What did that even
mean
?

He leaned forward an inch. “Don’t you see? There’s something remarkably perfect about how everything has come together. Zelda is my mom’s friend, so there’s an overlap between your social circle and my parents’. As your plus-one, I’m bound to bump into them at various events. And since we were neighbors for a whole summer, which is God’s truth, it wouldn’t surprise anyone to learn that we’ve hooked up.”

He wanted me to be his
pretend
girlfriend. My disappointment was so sharp it took a second before I could respond. “I can see your logic. But you have to understand—no matter how much I might look like a socialite in my ‘princess’ picture, I’m not one, and I hardly ever attend events on the social calendar.”

“But that’s part of what makes you such a good fit. My parents would be impressed by your accomplishments. It would also make our ‘relationship’ seem more genuine.”

“That’s crazy. I’m not an actress either. I can’t keep pretending to be what I’m not.”

“But together we don’t have to. When I’m standing next to you, anybody with eyes can tell that I want to sleep with you—and that you won’t mind. With that in place, how much more do we need to pretend? We’re two busy people with no plans for the long-term future. We’re just enjoying ourselves in the present tense.”

I shook my head. “No. It’s insane.”

“Explain to me why it’s insane.”

“Because…”

Because it would be like throwing someone with an alcohol problem into a sea of hard liquor
.

It was bad enough that I succumbed at his touch. Now, on top of our already ill-defined association, he wanted to add the complications of a fake relationship. Maybe he’d be able to keep track of what was real and what wasn’t; I didn’t trust myself that much.

But I couldn’t tell him I was turning him down because I was too into him. “Okay, how long would it take you to reconcile with your parents? Three months? Six months? A year? What if I meet someone I want to be with? What if you do? Are we stuck with each other because we have this crazy agreement?

“Also, how often are we supposed to go to these social occasions? I spent my Christmas working. I don’t have that kind of time.

“Not to mention, you may not know people in town, but I do. I’ve lived most of my life in Manhattan. What am I supposed to tell everyone? What am I supposed to tell Zelda? There are so many complications I can’t even begin to list them all.”

Bennett was silent, his face turned to the window. I was again reminded of the night of our meeting. After he’d introduced himself, I’d thanked him coolly, wanting him gone. He’d glanced toward his car then, as if he wished he’d never come out in the rain to talk to me. As if he was the one who might leave our encounter bruised and battered.

He looked back at me. “Except for the part about my parents, you can tell Zelda everything,” he said, his voice calm and even. “That we hooked up in August and again just now. That I’d like for us to continue to see each other. That you aren’t entirely sure yet. Same goes for your friends.

“I’m busy too, so we won’t be out glad-handing every night—or even every weekend. As for time, three months is too short, but six will work. And if you meet someone you want to date while we’re at it, you can take your out anytime.”

He made it sound so easy. So casual.

I shook my head some more. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

Silence greeted my words. His face was shuttered. Realization burned in my chest: After my refusal, we wouldn’t see each other again.

What was I thinking? Of course I would be his pretend girlfriend. Of course I would bask in his adoring gaze and giggle as he whispered snarky comments into my ear. And of course I would come back here with him afterward, still buzzing from the high of our public displays of affection, and let him take off my clothes and make love to me.

I clutched at the napkin on my lap. It was all I could do not to take back my refusal.

Bennett tented his fingers together. “At the end of our six months, I’ll write a check for two hundred fifty thousand dollars to your favorite charity. Or to you directly, if that’s what you prefer.”

My jaw slackened. A quarter of a million dollars was a lot of money for doing little more than squiring him about town.

“Does that sound like something you can agree to?”

I took another swig of the dessert wine. I would regret my answer bitterly—I already did. “No.”

Bennett didn’t look displeased—he didn’t even look surprised. “I don’t know if anyone told you this, but I made a shit-ton of money when I was in California, and I’m willing to put it to use. If two hundred fifty thousand isn’t enough, let’s make it five hundred thousand.”

My stomach flipped, as much from the extravagance of the offer as from…I couldn’t be entirely sure, but something in the timbre of his voice had caught my attention, something that belied the impassiveness of his expression. “You could easily find someone else.”

“Of course. But no one else on my horizon has received a MacArthur Genius Grant for her work. You’ll make me look good.”

I rubbed my temple. What did he actually want? And what did
I
actually want? “I never thought I’d see the day when I’m asked to become a Park Avenue trophy girlfriend.”

“Look at it from my perspective—I never thought I’d see the day when a quarter of a million dollars wouldn’t be enough to hire me a fake girlfriend.”

I smiled weakly at that.

“As an added incentive, if we succeed in our endeavor, I’ll write a check for an additional half a million dollars, a grant toward your research.”

I should be flattered that he was so determined, but I was more than a little freaked out. “What’s the catch?”

Other than that for six months we’d be working toward a common goal. When my friends talked about falling for their colleagues, this almost always came up—that they were teammates, obsessed with the same objective. I didn’t want to be in the trenches with Bennett. I didn’t want to be his partner and confidante.

“If I’m going to pay double, I’ll be more stringent in my demands. At two hundred fifty I was willing to prorate. If you can only do four months, then I’ll hand over a check for two-thirds of the agreed-upon sum. But at five hundred it’s all or nothing. If you bail on me before six months is up, for any reason beyond acts of God, I keep the money.”

It was my turn to look out the window—hope and doubt kept chasing each other in my head and I didn’t want him to see that on my face.

I wasn’t hurting for cash in my personal life and I’d secured sufficient funding for my research for the next several years. But Pater had been a businessman—an art expert too but a businessman first and foremost—and he had taught me that very few things in life were as eloquent as money.

Not that I’d describe Bennett’s money as eloquent. It was more like a mysterious artifact, the writing on it in a language I’d never seen before. But its existence was significant enough that I couldn’t dismiss it out of hand.

“Let me…” I grimaced. “Let me think about it.”

Bennett exhaled audibly. “Take your time. But while you think about it, can you make me your plus-one at Charlotte Devonport’s wedding?”

Charlotte Devonport was marrying my second cousin Sam in three weeks. “Are you related to her?”

“She’s my mom’s goddaughter. So my parents will be there, most likely.”

“And I just ditch Zelda? She was going to be my date.”