I swallow, all too aware that everyone else is staring at me. “Oh okay, that’s an interesting thought,” I say, my voice echoing loudly. “It’s fine that M-Misha is here.” I pause to gather myself. “Let’s grab drinks and food and discuss last week’s books.”

The next few minutes are spent making sure that everyone has everything they need. But even as I serve the tea or pour wine, I’m conscious of Misha’s figure standing on the far side of the table. He’s dressed in one of his costly suits—a navy Marc Jacobs with a subtle check. He looks wealthy and successful and as far away from me as if he were on Mars.

I edge towards him as the others take their seats, talking amongst themselves. “What are you doing here?” I whisper.

“What do you mean?” He gestures at the array of books. “I’m attending my first ever book club. How happy that must make you.”

“You don’t like talking about books,” I say through gritted teeth. “You say it takes all the enjoyment out of reading.”

“What a silly boy I am,” he says mockingly, his eyes glittering. “Because this right here is very enjoyable, Charlie, and let’s face it, I could really do with a reason today to turn my frown the right way up.”

As I try to think up a response, I become aware that all eyes in the room are on us.

“Everything okay?” Rita says loudly. “Shall we get down to it?” An older lady, she’s small and bossy and a massive gossip. She was very rude to Joan when she joined, and now they have an ongoing passive-aggressive feud where they compete over who is the most bookish person in the group. It’s one of the reasons why none of the rest of the staff want to run this club.

As if on cue, Joan sniffs. “Always in such a hurry,” she says sweetly. “I’m sure Charlie knows what he’s doing, Rita. He is the head of the group, after all.”

“That makes me sound like I’m leading a group of militia,” I say nervously. I sneak a glance at Misha, automatically expecting his usual sardonic amusement—a wink or a smile. But his face is stony and distant. I swallow hard.

“Okay,” I say far too heartily. After sitting down, I grab a book with a very gloomy brown cover. “Let’s get started. I thought we’d discuss this one first. What did everyone think of it?”

Rita puffs up like a pigeon. “Well, I thought that the central theme of disassociation was very well done through the use of beautiful metaphors and—”

“Tart, Misha?” Joan says, interrupting Rita’s flood of words as she offers a plate to Misha.

“It has certainly been said before, but how did you know?” Misha says, taking one.