Chapter 27The flight was business class and the meal kosher.
Ruth, feeling moved by Samuel’s generosity and obvious attention to detail, penned the signature Ruth B. Boaziz. The cocktail napkin—courtesy of British Airways and dotted with salt and peanut bits—drank up the blue felt-tip ink.
“We’re going to do this,” Samuel had said over lunch on Tuesday. “I promise you we are.”
Ruth sipped her champagne and sat back. Half-tipsy, she found herself amused by the littlest of things. The dog-eared tabloid in the front-seat pocket. The run in the flight attendant’s stocking. The peanut crumbs in her—Ruth’s—bra.
On second thought, the crumbs had to go.
She snatched up the cocktail napkin and dipped it inside her chiffon blouse, spilling yet more salt and crumbs into her cleavage. The flight
