"No," I say slowly. "Not yet."
Because for the first time in longer than I can remember, I'm curious.
And curiosity is so much more interesting than boredom.
CHAPTER 3
Sera
The Palazzo Hotel ballroom takes my breath away.
Crystal chandeliers hang from vaulted ceilings, casting warm light over marble floors that probably cost more than my entire apartment building. Women glide past in designer gowns that shimmer and flow like water. Men in perfectly tailored tuxedos cluster in groups, their laughter low and confident.
Everyone here belongs.
I smooth down my borrowed dress and remind myself why I'm here. The curator position. The final interview. Dr. Helen Ports, head of Special Collections at the New York Public Library, is somewhere in this room. This is my chance to make an impression, to show her that I'm more than just a name on an application.
I can do this.
I accept a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and scan the room. There—by the far wall, talking to a man in a navy suit. Dr. Ports, exactly as I'd imagined her—elegant, poised, wearing a gown that probably costs more than I make in six months.
I take a breath and cross the room, trying to look like I belong, or at least confident.
"Dr. Ports?" I say, approaching with what I hope is a professional smile.
She turns, and I immediately see her eyes flick over me—taking in my dress, my shoes, my simple earrings. I try not to blush as I realize she's judging and cataloging me.
"Yes?"
"I'm Seraphina Romano. I'm one of the finalists for the Associate Curator position." I hold out my hand. "I wanted to introduce myself and thank you for the opportunity."
She shakes my hand briefly, her grip perfunctory. "Yes, we were pleased to see your application." Her tone is polite but distant, like she's already thinking about the next conversation she needs to have. "Your work with rare manuscripts is... adequate."
The word lands like a slap.
Adequate.
My work has never been adequate, and I know that. I swallow back my irritation, trying to appear cool and collected.
"I've been working with restoration for three years," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "Mostly eighteenth and nineteenth-century bindings, but I've also done some earlier work. Last month I restored an 1847 first edition Brontë?—"
"How lovely." She's already looking past me, scanning the room for someone more important. "We'll be in touch about the final interview, Ms. Romano."
"I was hoping I could discuss?—"
"If you'll excuse me, I was in the middle of something." She turns to the man in the navy suit, effectively dismissing me mid-sentence. "Gerald, you were telling me about the Rothschild collection..."
They walk away, and I'm left standing there with heat flooding my cheeks.
Adequate.
I down half my champagne in one gulp and retreat to the edge of the room. Okay. That didn't go well, but it wasn't a disaster. I have other opportunities tonight.
She's not the only person here I came to network with. Not by a long shot.
I spot another familiar face near the silent auction tables. Robert Curry, senior curator at the Met. Not my first choice—he works with ancient manuscripts, not rare books—but he's well-connected. Maybe he knows Dr. Ports well enough to put in a good word.
I approach him as he's examining a piece of artwork up for auction.
