And that makes the whole thing worse.
Theo looks like he is already bored and delighted about it. Elliot is relaxed, smiling at donors like it’s his natural habitat. Harper, Elliot'sdate... is an expensive looking blonde, you know when you look at hair and think that is too pretty to be natural, but the blend of honey and ice is perfected... elegant, she has cool-blue eyes that miss nothing.
Rowan is here with a woman who is very pretty and very…careful. Like she isn't sure if she is allowed to take up space at the table.
Caleb is solo, calm, and contained, like he could disappear into the wall if he wanted to.
I take a sip of champagne. It tastes like money and fruit and something floral I can’t name. I don’t even like champagne, not really, but tonight I’m drinking it because it’s handed to me like it’s expected, and I’ve already been given too much to refuse.
I’m trying to focus on the conversation, the safe kind, the kind that doesn’t require truth, when I sense someone approaching.
The subtle shift in the air when someone important enters the orbit.
Graham Whitaker appears at the edge of the table. He’s dressed like he’s been to a thousand nights like this in a midnight blue tux that makes his eyes sparkle, and his messy, dirty blonde hair is styled back.
His smile is bright and easy. It looks friendly until you realize it depends on who it is aimed at.
“Lucy,” he says, and the way he says my name is familiar, like we’ve had more than one conversation, like I’m already part of his story. “You look incredible.”
Heat rises in my cheeks before I can stop it.
“Hi, Graham,” I manage.
He glances at Julian, not confrontational, just aware. They do the manly last name greeting, and then his attention slides back to me.
“I was disappointed you didn’t call.”
My stomach sours. Because I didn’t call. Because my life is a triage system. Because I forgot. Because I didn’t know if it mattered. Because I didn’t know ifImattered.
Julian doesn’t speak.
He doesn’t need to.
His hand settles on the back of my chair, not gripping it, not possessive in an obvious way, but close enough that I feel the warmth through wood and fabric. The pressure is light, controlled, like he’s anchoring space behind me.
I shouldn’t notice it.
I do.
The heat of his hand makes my pulse kick, and I hate myself for it.
Graham notices too. His gaze flicks down, then back up. Amusement glints in his eyes.
“Save me a dance,” he says, leaning in slightly, voice still friendly. “I have a few things I’d love to discuss with you.”
He says it like he assumes I’ll agree. Like he’s used to agreement.
My mouth opens, and for a second, I don’t know what to say because I can’t tell what the right answer is. I’m here with Julian. But I don’t even know whatthisis.
I glance toward Julian without meaning to, instinct.
Julian’s expression stays neutral. Like, my answer doesn't matter.
But his hand remains behind my chair, steady, present, like a boundary.
“I’m… here with Julian tonight,” I say carefully. It’s the closest thing to a polite no I can manage. "I'm not sure..."
Graham’s smile doesn’t change. “All the more reason. We have lots to talk about.”
