When we arrived at the restaurant, flashes of light came from the crowd on the sidewalk. Some of them seemed like professional cameramen.
“Wait here,” Knox said, before I could open the door.
He came around and opened the door for me. I stepped out carefully, and his fingers pinched the slit of my dress together.
“Wouldn’t want your underwear on the front of the tabloids tomorrow,” he said.
Why was he so famous? Every detail he told me only led to further questions. If I’d had my phone, I would have looked him up. Right now, though, I was happy just to be at his side, living in a dream.
We went up the stairs to the restaurant. It was a Brazilian place situated just outside of Battery Park. The walls were trellises with flowered vines growing over them, and candles made the rooms dance
