So, I sort of … work the room for a while. And by that, I mean I do aimless laps. When was that aerial show meant to start? At least that’ll give me something to focus on, so I don’t look so lost and out of place.

As I walk, I think of Molly, who must be feeling weird about being at Bramppath tonight, no matter what she thinks of Rose. Wish you were here, I text her. Eleanor’s smuggling you some macarons.

Her reply comes quickly. Omg love you both. Thank you. And have fun for me!

At some point, I end up at the mouth of a sprawling hallway. It’s empty here. Quieter. No one to glance at me, wondering who the hell I am and why I’m here. So, I start down it.

The marble flooring beneath me is dull gold, red, and forest green. On either side of me are columns covered in ornate designs of what looks like legit gold. Every few feet, stone-trimmed alcoves shelter priceless statues and vases. I steer clear of these. I would rather not get myself into lifelong debt by breaking one, thanks all the same.

I pass about a billion sprawling doorways, peeking into them as I go. It’s like a museum, room after room filled with rich tapestries, and vases, and statues. Antique armchairs, sturdy wooden desks, fireplaces and daybeds and violins and—violins?

My shoes squeak on the floor as I stop to get a better look. It’s not violins, plural. There’s a violin, displayed next to a cello—both of them standing in front of floor-to-ceiling windows. Farther in is an enormous gold-trimmed harp. And against the back wall is the most stunning grand piano I’ve ever seen in my entire life—and that includes the photos I put on my “when-I’m-rich-one-day” manifestation mood board last year.

I definitely shouldn’t be wandering into random rooms and touching shit, but it’s like I’m hypnotized. You can’t just see an instrument like this and walk past it like it never happened. Holding my breath, I run my fingers over the cold, dark surface. It’s a concert grand piano—a perfectly restored antique. It’s decorated with jewels, and it’s got a mother-of-pearl border. If I had to go full The Price Is Right, I’d guess it’s worth more than my house.

For the record, I’ve read “Goldilocks and the Three Bears.” I know damn well you do not waltz uninvited into strangers’ rooms and sit on their chairs and sleep in their beds and play their ungodly expensive pianos.

And of course, I touch it anyway. Just one key. Just to see.

It’s beautiful.