“And I’d guess if anyone can understand the things you face, it would be him?”

Xavier shifted and ran a thumb across his bottom lip back and forth. “He’s been with me during the best and the worst times of my life. And now you have gotten more from me than most magazine interviewers.”

The waiter arrived with Dauphine’s drink as well as two tall glasses containing an inch or so of what looked to be pure squeezed fresh lemon juice, a jug of water, and a small carafe of something else clear.

“Sugar water.” Xavier motioned toward it. “What do you call it? Simple syrup?”

“Oh. Yes.”

“This is very French. It used to be my favorite as a boy.” He showed me how to add the sugar and water and make my own lemonade to taste. We clinked glasses and sipped. It was tart and delicious.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

I nodded.

The dark-haired woman laughed loudly, flipping her hair, her eyes raking over my table-mate again.

I leaned forward with my elbows on the table. “Does she know you?” I asked.

“Who?” He sat up.

“The hungry woman at your nine o’clock.”

He pressed his sunglasses against the bridge of his nose and pretended to stretch and look down the street both ways. Then he leaned back. “She may know me. But I don’t know her. But I think you may be aware that I have some following here and there. People like to know what I am doing and make judgments about me.”

“You’re famous, you mean.”

“Well-known, perhaps.”

“And will it be strange for you to be seen sitting at a table with me? Will they wonder who I am?” Oh God, what was I implying?

His lips flattened. “Because they might think we’re … together?”

A strangled laugh broke from my throat. “No, no. Just—”

“People will think what they think.”

And what will they think? I wanted to ask. What do you think? “So it doesn’t bother you what people think?” I asked instead.

“It does. And it doesn’t. It is beyond my control. And there are other things that are … easier to control. Does it bother you?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I had a brief brush of notoriety when some stuff with my stepfather went down.” I traced a drop of condensation down my glass, and then took another small sip and swallowed. “It turned out he’d been investing huge sums from Charleston families—our friends and neighbors—in an elaborate Ponzi scheme. It was hard to escape the press and the shame. Even though my mom and I had done nothing wrong. I don’t think I’d like to be scrutinized like that again.”

He seemed to ponder my answer. “That’s … difficult,” he said.

“Papa!” Dauphine appeared, Evan close behind.