crowd that surrounds me, but someone seems to be having trouble with the host. At once, I realize it might be my surprise plus-one. “Excuse me for a second. I need to tend to my … uh … guest.” I cut my way through the crowd, taking care not to spill my wine, apologizing here and there, smiling at anyone who smiles my way, almost crashing into Emile Von Clare herself, then at last break through, my vantage restored. My walking slows, then I come to a dead stop. He stands there in a crisp blue button-down shirt, black
