I walked up the stairs slowly, glancing back to make sure I wasn’t tracking anything onto her plush blue runners, passing another maid, arms laden with linens, a door ajar to a gold-lit room with wall-to-wall bookshelves, two white dogs running away from yet another housekeeper, and then the highest level, where Nora was coming out of what looked like a bedroom, slipping her phone into her purse with a decisive, “Done! Ah, you’re so pretty, I can’t stand it.”

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” I sputtered. “I—”

Nora shushed me, eyes twinkling as if she knew exactly what I’d been busy doing. She started down the stairs at a trot and I kept pace behind her, wondering how somebody as clumsy as she was managed not to trip.

At the golden room, she slowed to call out, “Stephen! Just popping out for lunch with Ruby Chertok.”

An older gentleman appeared in the doorway in shirtsleeves, a copy of the Financial Times stuck under his arm. I knew this was Nora’s husband—I’d even met him a few times—but it still took me a second to connect this face with his name. He peered over his glasses at me, having the same trouble.

“The littlest Chertok? Christ, look at you.”

Nora laughed, pulling me with her as she shouted back up. “Dinner with the Hewetts, don’t forget!”

He’d already disappeared back into the study.

“I’m glad you came,” Nora said, her heels clicking cheerfully on the wood of the foyer. “I wasn’t sure if you were going to forgive me for last night.”

She turned quickly to face me, so I couldn’t quite land the unruffled reaction I’d been aiming for.

“The last thing in the world I’d ever want to do is embarrass you. Or make you feel small. I hope you know that.”

“Of course.” I did know that. I remembered. But it didn’t connect with what happened last night. And was that even an apology or a weird kind of denial? “It was fine!”

The first housekeeper I’d seen held the door for us. Nora smiled at her as we stepped out onto the porch, met with sour humidity and the blast of a car honk—buffeted by the real world in an instant.

Nora started toward Gramercy Park and I followed, stomach rumbling in anticipation.

“So.” Nora glanced back at me. “Can we talk about Oscar?”

“I . . . sure?”

“A tiny request from your loving godmother . . .” She linked arms with me and squeezed. “Watch out for him.”

I blinked, reeling. Had Nora changed her mind about us?

“He’s so special, and confident when it matters, but . . .” Nora sighed. “This is a lot for somebody so young. I don’t want the stress to wear on him.”

I let out a silent, relieved laugh. “I get that. I’ve been basically telling him the same thing.”