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“What just happened there?” I murmur to him as we step away.

“Abigail Fletcher is the William and Mary candidate.” He says it without turning to face me. His hand comes to my forearm and presses once. “Let it go.”

“So is this just because of competition for the prize?”

“Nope.”

“She’s heard.”

“Oh, yes.” He turns back to me. His smile doesn’t waver. “They’ve all heard. The name and the scandal, even if they haven’t connected it to the face yet. Let it go. Levi.”

“Sébastien!” Lincoln Preston comes across the floor at us like something with a guidance package on it, showing too many teeth. I’d like to break one of them. “And your…husband.” It comes in the next breath, like he was looking for a less embarrassing word, and then had to resort to the one that came to him first. Behind him, his wife gives me an empty smile.

“Lincoln.” Bastien puts the hand out again. This time it gets taken. “Ruby. How pleasant.”

“It’s been a while since the pounding. Please let me be the first to wish you good luck in your recent marriage.”

“You’re not,” I say. “But thank you. I’m glad you enjoyed the pounding. Even though as a Yankee, you’ve entirely misread our Southern traditions. You’re from Vermont, aren’t you?” I looked up his bio last night.

“Yes.”

“Well, I’m sure when you’re down here a little longer, you’ll learn our ways.”

Bastien presses my forearm, just once. Preston narrows his eyes at me and then pointedly turns to Bastien like he’s an old friend. He puts a hand on his upper arm. “And how are you? We have all been so worried about you. Truly. Are you sleeping?”

“Very well, thank you.”

“Because you’ve lost weight. I said as much to Ruby not two minutes ago. Didn’t I say it? You look a bit peaked.”

Ruby makes a small noise.

“And there’s no shame in it. None whatever. If it were me I’d be in pieces, and I’d want somebody looking after me.” He leans in about half an inch. “Is somebody looking after you? Professionally, I mean.”

Bastien presses against my shoe with his foot. “I have excellent support. Thank you.”

“Good. Good.” He lets go and turns half toward the room, and his voice doesn’t get louder so much as wider. When I look around, it’s not even surreptitious. Nobody is pretending this isn’t a show. “Because we have all been saying it. Haven’t we all been saying it, Ruby, dear?”

I look at Bastien. His face is still set in the same polite smile.

“Have you met the other challengers?” Preston goes on. “The girl from UVA is rather intelligent. And there’s one from William and Mary we shall both have to watch.” He says it like they are on a team.

“I’ll work my way around before the presentations.” Bastien takes half a sip of club soda. “I’ve read yours. It’s an interesting proposition.”

I put my hand on his lower back. He shifts half a pace forward to take a canapé off a passing tray. My hand comes off him. I don’t put it back.

“Isn’t it?” Preston swells up at what he’s decided was a compliment. “I woke at three in the morning with the whole thing entire. I thought, This may be how we defang racism once and for all.”

“It’s very bold,” Bastien says.

At our kitchen table last night he called it unhinged.

“Of course I brought my graduate students. For some of them it’s a first conference, and it’s so exciting for them.” He turns to me. “It’s your first as well, I imagine?”

“No. Montréal last year. Or was that the year before?” The lie comes easily. I’ve studied every one of his presentations and articles like I’m going to be quizzed on them. “Either way, I’m always happy to come here and support my brilliant husband and his groundbreaking research. It’s always a great thrill when other people recognize how truly remarkable he is.”

I wait for him to say something to that. He doesn’t. “Of course,” Preston says, and lifts his flute. “Well. I’ll leave you to it. Ruby?”

They go. I wait until they’re four people deep in the crowd. “Okay. Wow.”