Page 66 of Tuxedos and Tinsel
“Nothing. Seriously,” he added as though sensing she was about to press. “It… I’m not used to being included in family events is all.”
And he felt out of place. The pieces suddenly came together. “I’m glad you were there,” she told him.
“Were you?”
“Yes. Very much. I’m glad my brothers got to see firsthand how good a man you are.”
“Now you’re reaching.” He gave a soft laugh.
“All right, maybe a little. But I think Linus will come around. Thomas…he might be a harder sell. He has a highly overdeveloped sense of responsibility. I used to tell him he hadmonomania, which is a fancy way of saying he’s hyperfocused on the business. Comes from listening to our grandfather drone on about the family legacy during his formative years.”
“You’re playing armchair psychologist again.”
“Force of habit.” Understanding what made people tick made dealing with them easier. If she could link a reason to an action, then it took away some of the sting. Sometimes, anyway. “Plus, I’ve spent a lot of time observing my brothers.”
“Are you sure you studied the whole picture?” he asked.
“After more than two and a half decades, I’d better have. What makes you ask?”
He shrugged. “No reason. Just that I didn’t get the impression either man was acting out of responsibility. Doesn’t really matter, though, does it? What they think? After all…”
After all, it wasn’t as though he would be a long-term part of her life.
“I’m curious,” Lewis said suddenly. Turning sideways, he rested an elbow against the back of the seat. Grateful to have him in her orbit, Susan shifted as well so that they sat face-to-face, their knees touching. “What would your psychology books say about me?”
“You want me to psychoanalyze you?”
“Haven’t you already?”
“Maybe.” She looked at her lap. “I might have kicked around a few concepts.” They only served to depress her.
“Like what?” he asked.
“Why do you care?”
“Color me curious. You sound so certain about your brothers. Makes me curious what you think of me.”
Was it really curiosity or was he trying to send her a message? Reminding her not to get too attached.
“What if I don’t want to share?”
“Then I’ll presume the worst.” Lewis’s grin was overly wide. “And I’ll pester you until you give up the info.”
“Fine.” Hewouldpester her too. “Keep in mind this is completely nonscientific, but if I had to make a hypothesis, I would say children who grew up in foster homes are prone to anxiety, commitment issues, low self-esteem and often have a resulting fear of abandonment.”
Lewis didn’t answer and the shadows made it impossible to read his expression completely. Susan’s stomach sank. “It’s only a theory,” she said, turning to face the front once more.
“Low self-esteem? Seriously?” she heard him say. “Do I seem like I have low self-esteem to you?’
“I wouldn’t say low,” Susan replied. Although, hehadbeen worried about being accepted at the fund-raiser.
“No offense, luv, but I think you might want to rethink your theory. Excepting for the other night—which was an extraordinary circumstance—my self-esteem and anxiety are just fine.”
“And fear of commitment? Am I wrong about that one?” She probably shouldn’t ask with the driver present, but she couldn’t help herself.
“Depends. Is fear the same as disinterest?”
“No.” Fear was better. Fear implied there might be a chance.
