head back the first time.”
She laughed, then frowned, finally settling on an expression that held half of each.
“Tell me about the meeting,” she commanded.
I told her what I knew. When I had finished she pulled my head down to kiss me, and held it down to whisper:
“You do trust me, don’t you, dear?”
“Yeah. Just as much as you trust me.”
“That’s far from being enough,” she said, pushing my face away with a hand flat against my nose.
Marya came in with a tray of food. We pulled the table around in front of the divan and ate.
“I don’t quite understand you,” Romaine said over a stalk of asparagus. “If you don’t trust me why do you tell me things? As far as I know, you haven’t done much lying to me. Why should you tell me the truth if you’ve no faith in me?”
“My susceptible nature,” I explained. “I’m so overwhelmed by your beauty and charm and one thing and another that I can’t refuse you anything.”
“Don’t!” she exclaimed, suddenly serious. “I’ve capitalized that beauty and charm in half the countries in the world. Don’t say things like that to me ever again. It hurts, because—because—” She pushed her plate back, started to reach for a cigarette, stopped her hand in midair, and looked at me with disagreeable eyes. “I love you,” she said.