She adjusted the waist of her dress and said casually, “We’ve already slept together. And it was amazing.”

“Quiet, Wallis.” I hoped no one was lurking in the bathroom stalls.

She laughed. “Stop clutching your pearls. No one is here.” In the mirror, she narrowed her eyes coyly. “You don’t want to hear at least one salacious detail?”

I crouched to check for feet, then, confident we didn’t have company, I stepped closer to her.

She turned to face me, hands to her heart. “Oh, my God. It was amazing. Daisy, he did this thing with my hair. He kind of—”

I think she was about to reenact, but the door to the bathroom opened, and a few women came in, laughing, talking over each other about the band, the friends who couldn’t attend, the unflattering cut of the bride’s dress.

I straightened, realizing that I’d gotten sidetracked. “Blake worked for his mother,” I said, keeping my voice soft, though the other bathroom occupants were so loud and consumed with their own conversation, I doubted they were paying attention. “He ran her reelection campaign.”

“So?” She crossed her arms, inflexible as an ax. “You’ve never come to the aid of your family?”

“What is he doing now?” I asked, trying to ignore the sting of her question. “Is he still working for her?”

“As a matter of fact, no. He wants to start his own media strategy company. Consulting, coaching, that sort of thing.” She looked at me lazily, as if my line of inquiry was about to put her to sleep.

“This isn’t just about his mother, you know. His late father started the organization that—”

“I know.”

“And his uncle is a lawyer, and defended that person who—”

“Daisy, I know how to type words into a search engine. But Blake isn’t like the rest of his family. He’s been sleepwalking—his word. The ideology of his mother isn’t his. The passion of his mother, and the rest of his family, for that matter, isn’t his.” Wallis inched toward me. “You’re going to have to trust me on this, okay? I love you. Let’s not argue. Let’s go get more wine instead.”

“You go,” I said. I’d already stayed much longer than I’d planned. “I’m going to leave soon, I think.”

“Don’t you dare,” she said. “Atlas is here looking as cute as can be, and he deserves a dance. Dodo, don’t look at me like that. You dragged him to this thing. You can at least press your boobs against his chest during a three-minute slow song.”

Eleven

The song turned out to be a raspy, soulful one about evening shadows, stars, and storms. The female vocalist embraced the poetry of it, and she wasn’t half bad. She closed her eyes when she got to the chorus, and so did I.