( His attention stays center, but he has peripheral vision he pays no mind to. Gentleman leave love bites, too. )

I don't know Harry. ( He'll concede - and stipulate. And what he read about Harry was a lot worse than Hawkins Fuller: gay icon. Would the press eat it up? Of course. Katherine would print the stationary herself. She'd hire a wedding planner and then plan the damn spectacle itself. It would be the premier event of the season.

Probably at the winery. ) But, you don't talk like that about him. And then I know enough.

( How has he never stopped. Seen his son. For all of his bravado and walls and spiny exterior, he is love undenying. He's missed everything.

Another date. His boy deserves it. Deserves to be doted on. To be held against the end of the boat, to be painted like one of Hawkins' French Girls. ...He shouldn't have fallen asleep to Titanic last night. He blinks the thought away, letting everything settle between them again.

He takes another, longer sip. These are to die for. The martini. And moments. With his son. )

Not for nothing, but nothing about that sounds painful to me.