He remains in a hunched position, hands outstretched. It’s actually endearing; everyone else circled around the Twins’ landing pad has the opposite reaction: gasping, followed by a quick retreat. A few collide with the railings around the edges of the platforms, narrowly avoiding a dip in the indoor lake. Tonic halts her fall inches above the startled onlookers. A beat of silence follows as she rotates above them in a casual recline. The guests recover with applause, and Toby lets loose a steadying breath. I pat his shoulder, then go to check on the evening’s other, more subdued source of entertainment at the piano.

When I get to Jane, he’s in the middle of a Gershwin piece, and I’m reminded of Wednesday’s surprise performance. We haven’t talked about the direction his song took that night, but then, I don’t think we need to. If the multiple consecutive evenings he’s spent out with Charles are any indication, Jane hasn’t had to spell things out for him, either.

“How are you doing, darling?” I take a seat beside him.

“I love these corporate gigs. Show up, look pretty—”

“You always look pretty.”

He sends me an air kiss. “I wouldn’t want to do these exclusively, but it’s nice to come up with a set list and go to town.” His fingers dance along the piano keys with a playful flourish.

“Glad I could hook you up, then.” I flick the brim of his fedora; the navy felt coordinates perfectly with his suit. “Plans for after?”

“A movie. Charles hasn’t seen My Beautiful Laundrette!” he says, clearly scandalized.

“Quelle horreur!”

“You’re more than welcome to join, but that dress says you have greater aspirations.”

I sit taller, and the fashion tape anchoring the open back of my dress tugs against my shoulder blades. Tape aside, the dress fits like a glove. Through some tailoring sorcery, Ming darted and tucked the bust of the garnet sheath into cups and transformed the scoop neckline into a daring—but tasteful—sweetheart.

Alas, it seems I’ve wasted the dress’s debut. The party has been going on for more than an hour and so far, Wickham’s a no-show. We’ve texted a few times since our drinks at Ruin, but I haven’t heard from him since yesterday’s exchange about Toby’s new hoverboard. Part of me wants to check with Toby to see if he’s gotten any word, but I refuse—whether because of principle or pride, I’m not sure.

“Go put that thing to work.” Jane bumps me with his hip, nudging me down the bench until I stand. “You’re going to spend hours organizing Ming’s costuming supplies to pay for it, anyway.”