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My mouth opens. “Isaac…”
He smiles a little, like he knows he’s said too much, and kisses me. Warm lips against mine, right there in his parents’ house, surrounded by people who know him well, who all know who he is and what he represents.
He tastes like wine and coming home. I want to be alone, just him and me, in my apartment or on his couch.
There’s a teasing look in his eyes when he finally pulls away. “Feeling ready to leave?”
“I could leave, but I know you have people to talk to.”
He shrugs. “That’s the good thing about this party. It happens once every year, like clockwork.”
“Then let’s go, if you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.”
My eye catches sight of a group of people behind him. There’s a woman staring at us. Her near-black hair is pulled into a low bun, and she has an impressive necklace around her neck. Even from here I can see the shine of emeralds.
“Well,” I murmur, “I think there are a few more people who want to say hello to you.”
He raises an eyebrow. “I don’t mind leaving them disappointed.”
That makes me laugh. “Yes, but they might not give us a choice. Incoming, behind you.”
He turns to see the dark-haired woman striding our way. She’s our age, I’d venture, or perhaps a few years younger. Next to her walks a suit-clad man at least thirty years her elder.
“Isaac,” the man says, and extends a meaty hand. “I haven’t had a chance to say hello yet.”
“Always a pleasure,” Isaac says, and shakes the man’s hand. “Did the two of you just arrive?”
“No, no, we’ve been here a while,” he says, and turns a reedy smile at the woman beside him. He must be in his late sixties. “But you know how Amelia’s parties are. Packed with too many brilliant people. Last year I barely made it out of the dining room!”
The woman is watching me, rather than Isaac, and there’s a glint of speculation in her eyes. I keep my gaze steady on hers. One of his exes?
“My mother is one hell of a hostess,” Isaac agrees. His hand drifts to my lower back, a barely-there touch, but a signal all the same. “I’m afraid we were on our way out.”
“Trying to escape?” the woman says, with a smile. “Go, then. It was nice to see you both. And I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name?”
“Sophia,” I say, and extend a hand.
“Delighted,” she says. “I’m Beverly. My husband and I have been to a lot of Winter parties, or so I’d like to think, but I don’t think I’ve seen you before?”
“No, you’re new,” the man says. His eyes have narrowed into slits with the force of his smile, his cheeks red. “I would have remembered you.”
“Sophia and I have just recently started dating,” Isaac says. His words are matter-of-fact, the way they always are, but there’s a faint undercurrent of steel.
“Oh, how lovely!” Beverly says.
“Hope to see you again,” her husband says. “Take care, you two.”
Isaac turns his back on them, steering us toward the foyer, and we finally emerge into the cool New York air.
“Beverly,” I say. “That wasBeverly?”
Isaac’s voice is tight. “Yes. I’m sorry, Sophia, I didn’t know she’d be there.”
“That was your old…” The crassest of terms comes to my tongue, hovering right at the tip, before I remember that there are still guests milling around. Isaac’s steps are quick and I follow him away from the house, beneath the trees that stand like sentinels along the street.
“Yes,” he says. “I told you about her.”
