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Something deeper.

I quickly pinch my cheeks, leave the bathroom, and step into the corridor.

I walk toward the ballroom, aware of the soreness between my thighs with every step. A server passes with a tray of empty glasses. He doesn’t look at me twice.

I enter the ballroom and make my way back to the table.

No one stands.

No one gasps.

No one points and declares Ella Hart was just stripped of her virginity.

Mr. Stanley looks up when I approach. “Long trip to the powder room,” he says.

I pick up my water glass. “It was crowded.”

“Oh?”

I take a sip. I don’t answer him.

The dessert course arrives before Nathaniel does.

Something chocolate and shiny and too beautiful to eat. A waiter sets it down in front of me. I move it around my plate without really eating it, even though I love chocolate.

Then Nathaniel returns. I feel him before I see him.

He takes his seat beside me.

I don’t look at him.

He doesn’t look at me either. Not once.

I stare at my dessert and wait.

For a word.

A glance.

A whisper.

Some sign that what happened in the office meant something to him. Maybe not as much as it meant to me, but something.

Nothing.

Not once does he look my way. Not even when Mr. Stanley makes another comment beneath his breath about women taking too long away from the table.

Not when I set down my spoon after one bite of dessert because I don’t feel like eating something sweet right now.

At some point, he stands.

Dessert is barely finished.

“Please excuse me,” he says to the table. “There are a few matters I need to attend to before the auction begins.”

His voice gives nothing away. No one questions him. Why would they?

He doesn’t look back. Not once.