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“I never really thought in those terms,” I tell her.

“The expectation was always there.”

“That’s not the same as wanting it.”

“No,” I say. “It isn’t.”

For a moment, she says nothing.

I continue before I can talk myself out of it.

“But I’m good at it. I understand the responsibility. There are worse things than knowing where you’re useful.”

Blaire looks at me steadily.

“That’s a very Ross answer.”

I turn toward her. “You’ve known me two weeks.”

“Long enough to recognize a pattern.”

That pulls a quiet laugh from me, and the weight of the conversation eases.

Blaire smiles into her wine.

“There it is.”

“What?”

“You do know how to laugh.”

“I wasn’t aware that was in question.”

“It was becoming one.”

I step a little closer to the balustrade, which also puts me closer to her.

“You seem very comfortable making judgments about me.”

“I work with evidence.”

“That explains the confidence.”

“It explains the accuracy.”

I look at her. She holds my gaze. The distance between us has narrowed without either of us acknowledging it. I can see the faint shine of her lipstick in the terrace light, the loose wave of hair resting against her shoulder, the pulse moving lightly at the base of her throat.

My eyes drop to her mouth. This time, she notices and does not look away. Neither of us says anything. The moment stretches just far enough to become a choice. Then the terrace door opens behind us.

“There you are,” Sebastian says.

Blaire steps back first and turns toward him. I do the same a second later. Sebastian lifts one brow, but whatever he thinks, he keeps it to himself.

“For what it’s worth,” he says, “Mother is looking for both of you.”

Blaire glances at me once before heading back inside. I follow more slowly.

By the time we return to the drawing room, Blaire has already collected her bag from the chair near the door.