Inside, Yukying took her time scanning each area for the Grodescus, finally finding them in the large ballroom where a live band played standards. The couple twirled expertly on the dance floor between slower couples. In the same room, she wasn’t surprised to find Tinseng and Shan Dao sitting in a corner booth. She quickly pulled Laurence aside so they weren’t seen by her brother and directed them to a high-top table. A waitress materialized instantly, then hurried off to bring them their champagne. Laurence lit their cigarettes and prepared to settle in, because she hadn’t informed him otherwise. Usually, if they attended a party, Laurence avoided all the social aspects he could get away with, wanting only to enjoy a quiet conversation with his wife or, if the situation was truly dire, one of his work acquaintances. Tonight she would have to disappoint him.
When the Grodescus finally sat down, she turned to Laurence and said, “Darling, you see that couple over there? The woman in red and the man in gray? I met her yesterday. Can we go say hello? We can be friendly faces.”
“Another one of your charity cases?”
“She’s nice, and very lonely,” Yukying said, which just proved Laurence’s point. But for her sake, he visibly gathered himself and nodded. She silently apologized and promised herself she’d make it up to him tomorrow by not forcing him to do any activities with her brothers.
A strange look passed over Marissa Grodescu’s face when she saw them approach. Yukying hoped it was simple awkwardness as the other couple stood up for them. She kept her focus on Mrs. Grodescu as she smiled widely.
“Hello, Mrs. Grodescu. Mrs. Yukying Li,” she said, reintroducing herself to save Marissa embarrassment in case she couldn’t remember. “We’re on the cruise together. This is my husband, Mr. Laurence Li.”
Introductions and handshakes were exchanged, and the strict politeness of society granted them chairs at the table. The men started in on the usual topics: Mr. Li was born and raised in Hong Kong, undergraduate at Yale, graduate studies at Oxford, and now in government work; Mr. Grodescu was born and educated in France, but spent both wars out of country with relatives, which was how he met his wife, and was in the trade of antiquities. That part of the story matched the one Tinseng gave her; she didn’t know what to think. But instead of asking more questions, Yukying had something else in mind, a plan that had blossomed the moment she saw the couple on the floor.
“Mrs. Grodescu, your husband dances marvelously,” she said quietly under the talk of the men. “My husband was born with two left feet. No amount of lessons have helped.” She sighed wistfully and looked out at the dance floor. “Sometimes I miss having a more varied dance card. Not that my husband isn’t a wonderful partner, of course!”
Mrs. Grodescu looked amused. “I understand. Doctors say eating the same foods every day is not nourishing.”
“Yes, exactly. I do think I’m lacking iron in my diet sometimes.” They exchanged a look every woman knew: a secret, knowing smile. Then, before her nerves failed her, Yukying asked, “Could I bother him for a dance?”
Another flash of something passed over Mrs. Grodescu’s face. This time, Yukying could see the grimace, almost like fear.
“Lucas is . . . particular,” Mrs. Grodescu hedged, her gaze nervously flittering to her husband.
“I’m sure if I just asked.” Yukying internally apologized a dozen times for her rudeness and turned to interrupt the men’s conversation about the various ways to move antiques out of China. “Mr. Grodescu, I was just telling your wife you dance wonderfully. Would you mind if I imposed on you for a song?”
“If that is what you wish . . .” Mr. Grodescu addressed her husband while he asked. Laurence for his part looked immediately over at Yukying, who told him it was all right with a smile.
Confused but glad it wasn’t him being asked to dance, Laurence said, “You would be doing me a favor. She loves dancing. I can’t keep up.”
And so Mr. Grodescu offered his hand.
Until now, Yukying had refrained from looking over at Tinseng or Shan Dao in their back booth. They’d existed in her mind like hot spots on a heat map, but she hadn’t let herself think about it. Now she saw them in snapshots as Mr. Grodescu led her around the floor. Tinseng looked horrified in the first instance, furious for the rest. She caught Shan Dao’s hand on his arm, Shan Dao’s mouth by Tinseng’s ear. The final time, Tinseng stared directly at her, as if waiting for her eyes to meet his; the look on his face made a fist clench in her belly. Shan Dao wasn’t looking at her; his face was turned toward Tinseng, his expression in shadow.
Part of her flinched away from the mere idea of their disapproval. Another part of her knew she was the type to ask forgiveness rather than permission. They all were, the three Wu children, and she couldn’t even blame it on her younger brothers: she’d been this way her entire life. She’d learned how to sneak in order to get what she wanted.
Really, she thought as she spun gracefully around the room, Tinseng shouldn’t be surprised by this development at all.
She stopped looking their way after that. She didn’t want to be a neglectful partner.
“Are you enjoying the cruise?” she asked Mr. Grodescu.
“My wife is enjoying it.”
Yukying thought of the way the other woman spoke of him, how miserable Mrs. Grodescu looked in the lounge yesterday, the strange looks on her face tonight.
“She’s lucky to have such an thoughtful husband.”
“You could remind her of that.” They spun around the stage as the strings crescendoed. “And what of yourself? Are you enjoying the trip? No seasickness?”
“No, no, I’m lucky. I grew up around water, spent plenty of time on boats. I’m very used to it.”
“Then you must like taking late night walks? It was you I heard talking to Marissa last night, wasn’t it?”
Yukying stared at Mr. Grodescu, whose eyes sank needles under her skin.
“Yes, it was. I,” she swallowed, “I have back pain; it wakes me. The doctors said walking would help.”
“I’m sorry to hear it. Pain is a hard thing to bear.” Her feet barely touched the floor as he moved them. “You should be more careful walking around that late, Mrs. Li. Even on a ship like this, there are advantageous sorts.”
“I will. Thank you. It helps to know there are good married men like you who keep late hours.”
“I keep all hours,” he said, and his attention crawled all over her. She knew, down to her marrow, that no matter where she walked on the ship now, she’d imagine coal-dark eyes watching from places she could not see. She wanted to shiver to shake out the fear so it couldn’t spread. But his hand was splayed across her back, and he would surely feel it.
Men love fear, her mother used to say; they love it more than they will ever love you. Once, not long before she died, her mother had repeated this advice while she’d fixed Yukying’s hair, staring at her daughter in the mirror. You’re weak, she’d told her as she pulled Yukying’s hair ruthlessly into place. Yukying had winced, then offered a smile, more reflex than anything calculated. To her surprise, her mother’s frown had relaxed just a little. But there, you see? she’d said. Not as weak as you think, if you can smile through pain. Yukying had not understood but had kept smiling. Anything to earn her mother’s approval.
Those words drifted up around her now, echoes as soft as the drummer’s brush on the snare. Never show them how weak you are or they’ll eat you alive, her mother had said, intense in her insistence. Hide behind that smile. Cultivate whatever weapon you can.
Mr. Grodescu watched her, hungry. She twisted up her emotion and pulled it tight.
“I hope we run into each other again, then,” she said, and her knot of a smile held fast.
It took all her focus to walk calmly back to the table. Once she settled back in her chair, she counted excruciating minutes until she could politely lead Laurence away, wishing the other couple a pleasant evening. She felt Lucas Grodescu’s attention on her, though when she looked over, he wasn’t ever looking her way.
Tinseng was never far from her mind. After another drink, she excused herself to the ladies’ room. She walked slowly so Tinseng would notice her movement. In the privacy of the stall, she sat for a few minutes just breathing. Then she got up, washed her hands, fixed her lipstick, and ran her hands down her dress. She stared at the reflection in the mirror. There was a flush high in her cheeks. Was this a woman a mother could be proud of?
She picked up her clutch and walked out. Tinseng was waiting, leaning against the wall examining his fingernails, the very picture of a bored man about town. The effect was ruined as his head snapped up at the sound of heels on tile. He hurried over to her.
