I loved becoming part of Edgar and James’s conversations; they were a slightly more queer version of Kirk and Spock, or Luke Skywalker and Yoda after a few martinis. (I could conjure James instructing Edgar to use the Force, to fold a fitted sheet).

“I hope this will be all right,” said Edgar, with genuine concern, even though the suite boasted a four-poster bed, a sitting area, a dressing room, a spa-like bathroom and enough additional furniture for a high-end antiques auction.

“I don’t know. Is there a futon?”

“I warned you,” James told Edgar. “Americans aren’t comfortable without things that fold up or down.”

“I’m two doors away to the right,” said Edgar. “But for now, I think we could both use some rest. If you need anything, there are call buttons beside the bed for the household staff and James will be sleeping on a cot in the hallway.”

“My own cot?” said James. “You spoil me.”

“Come along and let’s leave Carter in peace.”

As James left, Edgar grabbed me for a quick, steamy, welcome-to-my-house kiss, which threatened to become something more until we heard James call out, from the hallway, “The antibiotics are in the wicker basket.”

“Until tomorrow,” said Edgar, smoldering as if he was a notorious highwayman leaping out my window onto his steed.

With Edgar gone I poked around, as if there’d be a mini-bar or a coffemaker, and I read a text from my mom: “I’m so jealous. Please give Edgar my best and don’t eat in bed because even in palaces they have bugs. Don’t embarrass me.”

If the Ogdens had a coat of arms it would depict a Swiffer crossed with a can of Lemon Pledge and the motto “Don’t Embarrass Me,” in both Latin and Hebrew.

I had a text from Abby as well: “If you don’t tell me everything I’ll have you edited out of my wedding video. Bali and Dane still fabulous. Kiss Edgar and act shocked if he thinks you’re gay.”

I put on a T-shirt and tapered sweatpants, the kind straight guys wear to the office. I slipped beneath the many layers of high-thread-count, down-filled bedding, not disturbing any of it, because I was a guest. I would be an illustration in a textbook on invitee correctness, which meant acting as if I wasn’t there. I reminded myself, Just breathe, you’re a human being in a nice room in a big house, as the rest of my brain screamed with laughter.