“Michael didn’t share any theories?”
“Didn’t he like her?” she teases.
“Michael doesn’t like anyone,” Aleksandr says dryly. “No, she was lovely—married now, Michael and I went to her wedding together.”
“But?” Lili nudges. “Why’d it end?”
Aleksandr shrugs. “It wasn’t fair to her, in the end.”
“What do you mean?”
“I didn’t let her into my life. Not really. My home, my days, my thoughts—not in any meaningful way. I suppose it didn’t seem necessary. I didn’t see myself marrying her. Ah, here’s the car.”
The warmth of the night—it blurs, concentrates; an adrenaline course, and then: it cracks.
Aleksandr, holding the door open for her.
The pound of her heart, in her throat, as she gets into the car.
The rustle of silk, as Aleksandr helps ensure her dress doesn’t catch.
Laughter, from Andrew as he settles across from Lili, when Michael undoes his black bow tie, irritated relief at being free.
Conversation, recounting contours of the evening.
“...it still would have been better if you’d gone up, it risked looking like an insult.”
“No one was insulted, Michael. Tang leads the work, he can accept the award for the firm.”
The weight of Aleksandr’s hand, clasped tight between both of hers, rests in her lap.
Left hand, bare ring finger—
I didn’t see myself marrying her.
That’s not—
Her heart stutters, and she looks out the window fast.
There—caught between the weightlessness of wanting, and the suspension of consequences, she sees it: that math again, stark and clear. The days, the weeks: mornings in bed, work trips, late-night phone calls, time with her friends, evenings with him, keys in her bag.
The twist of her thoughts, the potential of hope, these things that have been growing brighter, she realizes, day by day, accumulating; now—as she glances at him, as he grins at a comment Andrew makes—it shifts from something soaring into something leaden. Tense. A shadow over her shoulder, a weight about to fall.
Having beautiful things means she can lose them.
She’s lost them before.
The car stops in Chelsea. She manages a tight smile as Michael and Andrew get out; warm goodbye from Andrew, a nod from Michael.
The car accelerates, pulling away from the curb: expensive hush, insulated from city traffic, partition closed between them and his driver Richard, headed downtown.
“That went well,” Aleksandr murmurs. “Thank you for coming.”
Lili looks at him, then.
Oh, the fucking heart sear of it: how much she wants this man, how much she keeps wanting this man.
The familiar rush of lust, the blood-hot physical want—she grasps after that. Nothing else, nothing more—not right now. “Yeah?” she says. She musters a smile as she rests a hand on his leg, fine wool under her palm. She starts to move her hand higher.
