I trick myself into thinking my infatuation with him is over when in reality it’s only been refocused on this new game of cat and mouse. If I don’t go down to see him when he visits, I feel as though I’m winning. Never mind that he’s all I think about, the heaviest thought in my head day in and day out.

One month in, the flowers are mostly wilted and gone.

The gifted books are stacked beside my bed.

Every day, I fear it’s the last day he’ll come, and every day his black Range Rover pulls up in front of my grandmother’s house then a few minutes later, Jacobs knocks on my door.

I have no idea what my grandmother thinks about all of this. She hasn’t mentioned a single word to me about Emmett. No compliments about the flowers, no offhand remarks about his visits. Lately, it’s been nothing but discussions about the spring ballet season.

This evening is the opening night of Swan Lake followed by a black tie gala to raise funds to aid the Boston School of Ballet. All the invited guests have been asked to dress in black and white in honor of the theme.

My grandmother and I spent hours combing through racks of dresses at Neimans and Saks, and we eventually fell in love with a white princess gown. Its base is a simple fitted bodice with a full skirt, but intricate beadwork covers the sheer neckline and long sleeves, sprinkling down like raindrops onto the skirt. My grandmother’s borrowed pearl choker sits nicely at the nape of my neck, and my long hair is pulled into an up-do to better show off the details of the dress.

We have a private box at the ballet we share with Diana and Victoria. I sit on the far side beside my grandmother, looking down onto the crowd below. I’ve already read through the program once, sipped an entire glass of champagne, and done my fair share of people watching. I love the ballet. The pageantry of opening nights never disappoints, so much fashion and beauty on display. No one has missed the mark on the theme, the crowd a sea of black and white gowns, pearls and diamonds adorning every ear and wrist. I find my favorite outfits from among them, already hoping I’ll get to take a closer look at the gala later. The men are impeccably dressed as well, all in tuxedos, some even in tailcoats.

A group of boisterous women fills the box to our right, smiling and waving at us as they take their seats. It turns out my grandmother knows them, which isn’t surprising. Some days it feels like she knows half this town.

A waiter comes around to ask if we need anything. Diana and Victoria opt for a second round of champagne, but I hold off for now and go back to observing. My grandmother is pointing out a story in the program highlighting one of the dancers, tilting toward me to show me the picture, when there’s movement in the box to my left. I’ve been wondering who would fill it and when. The ballet is due to start any minute.