Part of me half expects Caroline to burst through the ballroom doors to lecture me for abusing the piano. But no one comes. I’m totally alone. So, totally fucking alone, I play the first thing that comes to mind. It’s a comfort song, one I learned when I was fifteen, after my first—and only—big breakup with my boyfriend of three months, Matt. He dumped me, if it matters. He said he’d gotten close to some girl he met on the bus, but he definitely didn’t cheat on me, so I didn’t have to worry. Cheating, no cheating, whatever—it was still heartbreak, and it still made me feel ugly, uninteresting, and desperate.

Anyway, I learned this song by heart that day. It’s not the saddest song I know, or the slowest, but it has beautiful lyrics. It compares the death of love to lying in the middle of a rose garden until the vines overwhelm you and—anyway. It always makes me feel better to play this.

Today, playing it doesn’t seem to be doing a whole lot for me. So I start it from the top, and wait for this feeling to fade.

You can’t miss it when someone comes in the ballroom. The door is massive and heavy, and when it falls shut the room shakes, like it’s doing right now. I stop mid-chord and turn around to see Molly crossing the room.

“Have you been crying?” she asks, her eyes on mine.

I give her a manic smile. “Nah, hay fever.”

“Oh, right.” She pulls up by the piano and looks down at me. “Are you coming to dinner?”

How is it dinnertime already? Have I been playing the same song on repeat for half an hour already? That’s a weird thing to do. “Um, I’m not super hungry.”

She doesn’t move just yet. It’s a Sunday, and meals are more casual on the weekends. No dressing up in black robes, and lining up at the door, and prayers in Latin. Just an hour where you can stroll in whenever you feel like it and grab food.

“It’s a nice song,” Molly says, patting the piano like it did something right.

“Thanks. I like it a lot.”

“I can tell,” she says with a laugh. I remember the ballroom isn’t exactly soundproof, which means anyone in the courtyard probably overheard my thirty-minute rendition of “Roses and Him.” This day just gets better and better.

“Did you see the news?” I ask, super casual.

“I did. Personally, I don’t think we need another stadium, but I heard they’re hoping to host the Olympics one day soonish, so.”

I give her a blank look. She stares at me, then pretends to realize what I was talking about. “Oh, you mean about Rose and Alfie.”