pointed between the two of them. “I suppose I should say something about a small world. After all, we met only once and briefly, in Manhattan, and here we are four thousand miles away on the same ship for ten days.”
“Considering we met outside the cruise lines’ offices, perhaps not such a coincidence.”
She tilted her head. “I suppose.”
“Are you traveling alone?” Nathan asked.
“Yes. You?”
“Yes.”
Laura had already developed her story. Using her middle name, she was Laura Danforth, bored trust-fund baby, taking a short vacation from the exhausting round of galas, theater performances, and multi-million dollar fundraisers after her parents had to back out of the cruise they’d already booked.
“Since we’re both alone on what appears to be primarily a, er, ‘silvered-hair couples’ cruise, may I escort you to dinner?”
She considered Nathan and his offer for a moment. A quick glance at this left hand revealed no ring. “You’re not married, are you? Because I don’t play with married men.”
“No, I’m not married or otherwise committed. I don’t even have a goldfish.”
Laughing, Laura thought, Why not have a little fun? Who needed rough edges when the man looked like Nathan. “Then how can I turn down such a genteel offer? Your grandmother would be so proud.”
Since she and Nathan were both traveling alone, neither one had made dining reservations, but rather chose to eat in the main dining room. Imperial’s boast of five-star dining didn’t disappoint. The service was impeccable, and the food as pleasing to the palate and the eye as that found in any top New York restaurant.
They’d been seated with two other couples, an American investment banker and his plastic-surgeon wife who looked like she’d had one too many of her own procedures, and an Italian politician and a woman he introduced as his mistress.Laura had to bite her tongue to keep from asking where the wife was. Shopping in Milan, perhaps, or home with their precocious brood?
The banker introduced himself as Gordon Vogler, and his wife as Veronica. Veronica Vogler the Vampire—lovely alliteration, that—her plasticized skin lending her the well-preserved appearance of those mythical bloodsuckers. The politician, Franco Abruzzo, glad-handed everyone at the table as if they could all vote for him in the next election.
The mistress, Natalia Brusca, had that sexy, tousled, heavy-lidded Sophia Loren look. The politician, however, sported a bad toupee and a paunch. What could she see in him? Laura wondered. She mentally snorted. Other than money, judging from the carat-weight of the diamond pendant around her neck. And perhaps power.
“So, Mr. Maxwell, what is it that you do?” Gordon asked.
“Nathan, please,” Nathan responded, wiping his mouth with his white linen napkin, before placing it back in his lap. Taking a sip of his wine, he cut a glance at Laura and the other table companions. “I’m in corporate relations. Nothing as interesting as banking or politics, I’m afraid.”
“And you, Ms. Danforth?”
“Please, call me Laura.” She waved her hand in the air, “Nothing as interesting as corporate relations, banking, or politics.” Here was the opportunity to try out her story, sticking as closely to the truth as possible, without giving away her clandestine purpose. “Right now I’m taking some time away.” Not a total lie. She was taking some time away—from her dysfunctional family.
“I’m a—how you say?—exotic dancer,” Natalia piped up in tortured English. She reached out for Franco’s hand, patting it. “We met when Franco, er, view my interpretazione of Swan Lake , right, cucciolo?”
Oh no, she did not. Did she just call him puppy? Laura covered her mouth with her napkin to cover the snort that almost escaped. Swan Lake? Alrighty then.
Nathan shot her a glance, eyebrows raised.
Instead of being embarrassed by her revelation, Franco beamed with pride.
An awkward
“Considering we met outside the cruise lines’ offices, perhaps not such a coincidence.”
She tilted her head. “I suppose.”
“Are you traveling alone?” Nathan asked.
“Yes. You?”
“Yes.”
Laura had already developed her story. Using her middle name, she was Laura Danforth, bored trust-fund baby, taking a short vacation from the exhausting round of galas, theater performances, and multi-million dollar fundraisers after her parents had to back out of the cruise they’d already booked.
“Since we’re both alone on what appears to be primarily a, er, ‘silvered-hair couples’ cruise, may I escort you to dinner?”
She considered Nathan and his offer for a moment. A quick glance at this left hand revealed no ring. “You’re not married, are you? Because I don’t play with married men.”
“No, I’m not married or otherwise committed. I don’t even have a goldfish.”
Laughing, Laura thought, Why not have a little fun? Who needed rough edges when the man looked like Nathan. “Then how can I turn down such a genteel offer? Your grandmother would be so proud.”
Since she and Nathan were both traveling alone, neither one had made dining reservations, but rather chose to eat in the main dining room. Imperial’s boast of five-star dining didn’t disappoint. The service was impeccable, and the food as pleasing to the palate and the eye as that found in any top New York restaurant.
They’d been seated with two other couples, an American investment banker and his plastic-surgeon wife who looked like she’d had one too many of her own procedures, and an Italian politician and a woman he introduced as his mistress.Laura had to bite her tongue to keep from asking where the wife was. Shopping in Milan, perhaps, or home with their precocious brood?
The banker introduced himself as Gordon Vogler, and his wife as Veronica. Veronica Vogler the Vampire—lovely alliteration, that—her plasticized skin lending her the well-preserved appearance of those mythical bloodsuckers. The politician, Franco Abruzzo, glad-handed everyone at the table as if they could all vote for him in the next election.
The mistress, Natalia Brusca, had that sexy, tousled, heavy-lidded Sophia Loren look. The politician, however, sported a bad toupee and a paunch. What could she see in him? Laura wondered. She mentally snorted. Other than money, judging from the carat-weight of the diamond pendant around her neck. And perhaps power.
“So, Mr. Maxwell, what is it that you do?” Gordon asked.
“Nathan, please,” Nathan responded, wiping his mouth with his white linen napkin, before placing it back in his lap. Taking a sip of his wine, he cut a glance at Laura and the other table companions. “I’m in corporate relations. Nothing as interesting as banking or politics, I’m afraid.”
“And you, Ms. Danforth?”
“Please, call me Laura.” She waved her hand in the air, “Nothing as interesting as corporate relations, banking, or politics.” Here was the opportunity to try out her story, sticking as closely to the truth as possible, without giving away her clandestine purpose. “Right now I’m taking some time away.” Not a total lie. She was taking some time away—from her dysfunctional family.
“I’m a—how you say?—exotic dancer,” Natalia piped up in tortured English. She reached out for Franco’s hand, patting it. “We met when Franco, er, view my interpretazione of Swan Lake , right, cucciolo?”
Oh no, she did not. Did she just call him puppy? Laura covered her mouth with her napkin to cover the snort that almost escaped. Swan Lake? Alrighty then.
Nathan shot her a glance, eyebrows raised.
Instead of being embarrassed by her revelation, Franco beamed with pride.
An awkward
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