“Oh God, that joke again. She is too much.” Liza freed herself from Dorsey’s arms and walked toward her mother. Dorsey walked in the opposite direction, toward the bar.

The night only dared to get worse, as her brother was eventually kicked out of the party for rushing the stage yet again. Granny went thirty-five minutes over her seven-minute presentation slot and spoke for ten minutes alone on her fertilizer mixture (“for sale at the Bennett table; just ask the girl in white without a date”). Bev got so drunk that she was cursing everybody out at the end. She had seen a man walking with his wife and checking out another woman, and screamed, “Men gon’ be men!”

Liza left the party, dragging Janae, Bev, Granny, and LeDeya into the limo. Somehow, she’d lost her brother.

Dorsey pretended to be occupied with his fingernails when Jennifer’s skirt swirled around his feet.

“You look pleased with yourself, Dorsey,” she said. He hadn’t spoken to her since her dressing down at his loft. But she was right. He was pleased with himself. His nerve endings were still on fire from the sensation. Every eye on him was a sharp pinprick, but he had done it. Dancing in public felt like the ultimate test of belonging somewhere. The type of dances you knew and the way you did them marked your class, your personality, even your age. He just didn’t want to be marked like that by the people around him. He was already different enough. But his sheer force of desire to be close to Liza had chipped away at that phobia. His chest expanded, and a smile kept creeping up his face no matter how hard he tried to keep a neutral expression.

“I just might stay the whole time,” Dorsey said.

“What was that? Some kind of good-PR dance? Finally following Senator De Berg’s advice? It’ll make the policymakers in DC a little less nervous.” Jennifer looped her arm around his.

“No.” He scratched his nose as an excuse to unlock their arms. “I just really wanted to dance with her.”

“After everything I’ve seen tonight, there’s no way I’m letting anyone in that family near anyone in my family. I think you owe it to David to tell him what you heard Janae’s mother say.”

“I’ve already told him. He needs to move on. But he’s his own man, and she’s really got her hooks in him.”

Liza isn’t her family. Dorsey kept repeating that mantra in his head. But there was no way they could seriously date with those albatrosses around her neck. She came with too many liabilities. He couldn’t be dragged under by scandal.

He saw Liza’s little brother sauntering toward him. Jennifer excused herself, probably to avoid any and all Bennetts. Dorsey braced himself. He knew little about Maurice, but he recognized that purposeful walk.