The woman sweeps the skirt of her black embroidered gown to the side and sits down elegantly next to me, as if this is just another Saturday night for her. Her tuxedoed fiancé, a lanky guy glued to his phone, joins us.

“We actually just bought half the table,” Blake admits quietly.

“So? That’s amazing. Really amazing,” I offer.

I hadn’t even noticed there was ambient music, but it fades to silence as everyone settles in. Chatter dies down.

The host, a stout fifty-something man who looks like he intentionally matched his red bow tie to the association’s banner, clears his throat. He introduces himself as a member of the board and congratulates us all for choosing to support such a worthy cause. There’s a round of applause from the audience; I clap, then place a supportive hand on Blake’s knee.

He gazes at me with a grateful look. “Thank you so much for being here with me,” he says, leaning in so his lips brush my ear.

The host explains that he’s been on the association’s board for more than two decades, after his brother passed away from a heart attack. His voice doesn’t waver when he tells the story of his sibling’s death. It’s clear that he’s given this same speech too many times to count. The room’s self-congratulatory aura dims to a somber one.

“And that’s why it’s so important to keep the American Heart Association going,” the host concludes. “Thankfully, along with the money raised here tonight, I’m sure it will continue for years to come. I’d like to introduce our first guest. . . .”

The host brings up three guests to share their stories. Each has been affected by heart disease, either personally or because of a loved one, and they offer emotional speeches about how the association has saved lives. As they speak, waiters discreetly circle each table to take our orders.

When the speeches are over, the host returns to encourage us to eat and mingle. The blonde next to me shifts in her seat, shoots me an awkward glance, and turns back to her fiancé. When she sees him glued to his phone again, she sighs and takes a long sip of champagne.

“I’m Stephanie,” she says suddenly, turning to me and thrusting out her hand.

Her grip is firmer than I expected. “Eliza. So nice to meet you.”

“Eliza!” she exclaims. “I had a hunch that was you.”

I falter, opening and closing my mouth like a fish hooked on a dangerous line.