He did. For the next ten minutes, she forgot she was at a faculty party as Max launched into a tale of heroism and sacrifice. “When I was still at Cambridge ‘finishing my thesis,’ I found an issue of the student newspaper from Karina’s college from before the end of the Michaelmas term in 1943. It was a roundup of sorts of where everyone was spending the holidays, and Karina mentioned a trip to New York. I wondered then, and I still do, why in 1943, a young, single woman—a student—would flit off to New York for her Christmas holidays.”

“So you are truly here to investigate!”

“God, no. I’m here for a huge party and to avoid my family.”

That was both unsurprising and oddly disappointing. “What are you—”

“Hello, Dani.”

Oh, shit. She’d forgotten about Vince.

She’d forgotten about Vince. Sending a message to Vince was half the point of being here tonight. She’d been planning to pretend that she no longer gave him any real estate in her brain. But thanks to Max and his storytelling abilities, it had actually been true for a while. How remarkable.

Vince was wearing his own khaki pants and button-down, though he had a sports coat over his—he’d always been better dressed than everyone else. Berkeley, clinging to his arm, looked stunning in a white jumpsuit with a plunging neckline.

“Vince, Berkeley, meet my friend Max.”

“The duke, right?” Berkeley said, eyes wide as Max stood to greet them.

“Alas, a mere baron,” Max corrected. Wow, the Depraved Duke nickname must have everyone thinking Max was actually a duke.

“What brings you to New York?” Vince asked.

“Just visiting,” Max said smoothly, sitting back down and sliding his arm around Dani’s shoulder in such a way that implied it was her he was visiting. “New York at Christmastime has so much to recommend it.”

Dani had the sudden notion that Max’s answer to the “What brings you to New York?” question was changing based on whatever answer would paint her in the most flattering light. With her departmental chair, it had been an intellectual mystery Dani was helping him solve. With her shitty ex, it was her.

He was turning up his accent, too, in a way that seemed to accentuate his fanciness. Dani had had a crash course in all things Eldovian when Leo had been swept off his feet by Princess Marie and had learned that both German and French were official languages. If pressed, Dani would have said Max tended toward French over German, with perhaps a bit of British thrown in, perhaps owing to his years at Cambridge. But really, his accent sounded vaguely European-posh, like Madonna in her “putting on airs” phase.

“Speaking of visits,” Max went on, “I thought I might pay one to the bar.” He stood again. “Allow me to bring a round of drinks. What can I get you, Berkeley? Wine? Beer?”