“This is your first time in New York?” she asks. She looks incredible. Her hair is swept up in a high pony and she’s wearing all black. She’s so stylish. For the first time since I sat at the bar at Grizzly’s, I feel self-conscious about what I’m wearing.

I glance down at my denim skirt and white blouse. I must look like a country hick. “Can you tell?”

Sophia fixes me with a stare. “Don’t you dare do that. There’s a place for everyone in New York. You don’t have to look a certain way or dress a certain way or be a certain way.” She winces. “Well, maybe you do to fit in certain circles, but no one who matters cares about any of that. We care about who you are and how much you love Byron. Not about what you’re wearing—which is very cute, by the way.”

Anxiety gathers in my throat. “I do love him.”

“Good,” she says, taking my left hand. “That ring is completely beautiful. He did such a good job.”

I wiggle my finger, the round diamond solitaire sparkling in the sunlight. “He did.”

Byron puts his hand on my waist. “Everything okay?”

I nod a little too enthusiastically.

“New York can be intimidating,” Sophia says in explanation. “The key thing is not to let yourself get sucked in by the assholes who spend their time trying to out-dress, out-talk, out-lifestyle everyone.”

“Hmmm,” Worth says. “You’re right. There are a lot of people in New York who compete with each other about…”

“Stuff that doesn’t matter,” Byron says. “The six of us were always focused on business. We didn’t notice any of the other noise.”

Worth nods. “Are we all the same?” he asks, just as Fisher walks through the door, with Jack following behind.

“Jack notices,” Byron says.

“What?” Jack asks.

“You notice stuff the rest of us don’t—like the shoes people are wearing and whether their last name is a family that came over on the Mayflower. That kind of shit.”

Jack is intimidating. He seems a little less friendly than Byron’s other friends. Byron speaks fondly of him, but I don’t seem to have warmed to him the way I have his other friends.

He takes a deep breath. “Yeah, I notice. It’s ingrained in me. Generations of Aldens have been judging everyone they come across. I swear, if I was to die tomorrow, my mother’s first thought would be whether her hair stylist could come out on a Monday, and whether Ferragamo has a new black pump.” He shrugs. “I know it’s ridiculous. But just because I notice it, doesn’t mean I value it. It’s just information.”

“Well, I’m sure my ancestors didn’t come over on the Mayflower,” I say.