Page 49 of Just Not That Into Billionaires

I smile. Her characterization is minorly amusing, I suppose. Without thinking about it, I settle my arm around her shoulder, and at that exact split second, she slides her hand around my waist, and then we smile at each other. Well, you have to admit, it’s funny we had the same idea at the same exact time. You couldn’t have choreographed us better if you tried.

Alan snorts. “Hopefully you’ll put in a good word with the tech overlords when the time comes, Ben,” he says.

“I’ll think about it,” I say.

“If I didn’t pull Danielle off the stock tickers and news feeds for meals and sleep, she’d be comatose by now.” Here he turns to Francine. “How long are you in town?”

“Two more weeks, and then I leave on a tour,” she says, curling her hand around my waist. I’m highly aware of those fingers, highly aware of her shoulder under the flat of my palm.

Alan wants to know where the tour goes and she rattles off the cities—London, Paris, Seville, Istanbul, Stuttgart.

Maybe it’s because we’re flush to each other, but the pleasure she takes in saying the names reverberates through me, and not just that, but the warmth of her, the shape of her—willowy but made of pure steel, muscles ruthlessly honed to catlike strength, ready to spring into action with outrageous athleticism.

“It’s not just a European tour,” I say. “Francine’s working with the famous choreographer Dusty Sevigny. She’s a soloist in one of his original pieces.”

“Congratulations!” Alan says.

Francine’s beaming, radiant. She’s happy.

Out of nowhere, this little voice comes to me—Why not cut her loose? Why not give her the papers she wants and let her go back to her life?

I push the little voice back down. Because this is good—Alan will tell people that he met my wife—nothing like an eyewitness. And folks at our income level frequently live on different sides of the country or maintain multiple residences in far-flung foreign capitals. Especially when they have busy careers.

If my past self were to see this scene—Francine and me in a dog park meeting friends—he’d die of excitement.

Until he learned I was forcing her to play this part, in which case he’d punch the shit out of me. But that Benjamin is dead and gone. That Benjamin had juvenile ideas.

“Well, if you guys can tear yourselves away from things,” Alan says, “Danielle and I are having a rooftop cocktail party a week from Friday. Aaron’s coming.”

Francine and I exchange glances as if we’re a normal couple.

I say, “Will your rehearsal—”

“Be happening? God, I hope not! We have weekends off unless Sevigny is freaking out on something.” Francine smiles at me here.

Is she happy? Does she like this idea?

Francine does enjoy meeting new people. She loves to dig into people and learn all about them. Once she gets a thread of you, she’ll pull and pull and pull—that’s the beauty of her, but also the danger of her. And she has this devious sense of what threads to pull, the specific things to ask. She unravels you and makes you defenseless.

“Right,” I say, nodding, like Sevigny’s temperament is something I know all about. Is this what it would be like? Being married? Would we be these people? Invested in each other’s careers, supporting each other like teammates?

“Honey?” Francine says.

I blink. “What?”

Alan’s watching me, waiting. “Can you do it? You don’t have a reservation on a rocket ship or anything, do you?”

“Oh,” I say. “No, I’m thinking…no, it’s good.”

“I’ll have our guy shoot your guy a text,” Alan says. With that he takes off.

I spot Spencer with something dubious in his mouth and I go over and deal with it. Spencer runs off. I rinse my hands in a fountain, then wander over to the railing, staring out over the water. I need some space. I don’t know why.

“He’ll have their guy text to your guy?” she teases, coming up to me. “Do he and Danielle have a butler-assistant too? Do all of your friends have butler-assistants?”

“No, not all my friends have them, but Danielle is one of the most high-powered financial gurus around, and Alan’s a bigshot graphic designer. It helps to have somebody managing household and admin. It just does.”

I turn to watch Spencer and she mirrors me. We stand there with our backs to the water, watching Spencer play with a German shepherd.

---