She laughs. "Anyway, it took twelve dresses before I decided on this one."
I glance over her minidress, offering, "Perfect choice."
"You think?"
"Definitely!"
She grabs two flutes of champagne from a server and hands me one. "Great. So what's new with you? I feel like I haven't seen you in a long time."
Red's face appears. My throat turns dry. I drink half the flute and open my mouth, then shut it.
I can't tell her.
Not here.
Her eyes flick over my face, sharp and perceptive. Her smile falls. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," I say out of habit, then stop myself. I soften it. "I'll tell you later what's going on."
She nods like that's enough. It's something I appreciate about Demi. She never pushes when I'm fragile. She'll just stay close and keep me safe.
"Come on," she says, slipping her arm through mine. "I'll show you everything before my mother drags me into a speech."
"Sounds good. The restaurant is beautiful, by the way."
"It is, isn't it?" she gushes, with pride spilling over her.
"Yes. It's better than Oceanous and Eros."
"It is, isn't it?" she chirps.
"For sure. Totally represents you," I affirm, happy that her namesake while on brand with her brothers's restaurants has a different flair that screams her style.
"Thanks!" She pulls me through the space, narrating as we go, pointing out the tiles imported from Greece, a custom oven shipped from Italy, and the dessert display she insists looks like art and not pastry propaganda.
I listen, genuinely impressed, with pride settling into my chest and pushing some of the static out. For a few minutes, my mind goes blissfully quiet.
We stop near the bar, where servers in crisp uniforms are pouring wine and sliding plates of mezze toward eager hands. The bartender flashes Demi a grin and hands her a cocktail with her name etched on the glass.
She passes it to me instead. "You need this more than I do."
I take it, grateful. The cool glass anchors me from going crazy thinking about Red. I sip, letting citrus and something herbal bloom across my tongue. It helps. Not enough but some.
"I'm glad you're here," Demi says, softer now. "I kept thinking you might bail."
"I thought about it," I admit.
She smirks. "Of course you did."
A group of cousins approaches, pulling Demi into rapid-fire congratulations and teasing. I hover at her side, smiling whenappropriate, nodding when addressed, and staying present enough to pass but distant enough to remain protected.
Eventually, Demi leans in and lowers her voice. "Bathroom break?"
"Please," I say, more desperate than I mean to sound.
We slip away from the crowd and into the hallway leading to the restrooms. The noise dims, and the lighting cools. My shoulders drop, finally relaxing.
Everything gleams. Marble counters, gold-framed mirrors, and soft lighting that forgives fill the space. I move to the sink and brace my hands on the edge, staring at my reflection, and hating how my eyes look too alert.
