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He comes up behind me and reaches for the zipper even though it is already closed.

“Checking the workmanship.”

That is not what he is checking. The last time I wore this dress I wore nothing under it, and he did not find out until his own front room. The backs of his fingers are on the zipper and his eyes are on my hips in the mirror, and he is trying to work out whether I have done it again.

“You are very committed to quality control.”

“I have standards.”

“Several, apparently.”

He smiles at me in the mirror.

I do not tell him. He can wonder all night.

My phone vibrates on the dresser.

Gabi.

Homework done. Pasta accepted. Your daughter says my sauce is inferior to yours and Colt’s, which feels personal.

Tova is fine.

That should make leaving the house uncomplicated.

It almost does.

Colt picks up his jacket.

“Everything good?”

“Yes.”

“Gabi survive the review?”

“Barely.”

“Kid has standards.”

“I have heard.”

The milk is in the refrigerator, beside the milk we already had.

He holds my coat while I put it on.

I let him.

The ballroom overlooks the River Walk, all glass and reflected light with enough burgundy and gold in the room that nobody could mistake who paid for it.

Colt’s hand settles at the small of my back when we enter.

It stays there through the first conversation. During the second it drifts an inch lower, and I put it back without looking at him.

Ryan stands beside his new wife, Peyton, near the bar. Evan is there with his girlfriend, Sam. Finn, who shares a house with Catalina, is explaining something to her with both hands while she watches him with the expression of a woman who has already decided he is wrong. Roman is at our table examining the desserts before dinner has even started.

“Planning ahead?” Colt asks.

Roman points toward a plate. “Those are limited.”