To Freddie, the only thing more important than putting on a successful affair was having the papers report that she’d put on a successful affair. Perversely, having this goal in common had brought Elaine closer to her mother than she’d ever been. Now they were merely oceans apart instead of galaxies.

“You look nervous,” Jenny commented, tilting her head to one side to study Elaine. “You’re never nervous. What’s up with that?”

“It’s my parents’ party, for heaven’s sake.”

“So? We do parties all the time. We’re the best in town. People are still talking about the Helpline Foundation fundraiser we did last Thanksgiving in Bridgehampton. What’s really eating you?”

Elaine took a deep breath. She might as well spill. “I hate Christmas. I hate my life. Byron dumped me for a bra model.”

The announcement fell into a collective, stunned silence.

“But you were supposed to marry him,” Jenny said after a horrified pause. “His father practically owns a broadcasting empire. You two were going to be the ultimate media power couple.”

Bobbi leaned in close to give her a hug. Her forgiving nature made Elaine feel small. “Oh, honey,” Bobbi said in her delightful Southern accent, “We’re so sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m more annoyed by his timing than anything else.”

“It’s not too late to find another plus-one for tonight.” Mel started a search on her Palm. “It’s Christmas. You can’t be dateless.”

Elaine bit her tongue. The truth was, she didn’t want a date. Or even Christmas, for that matter. She just wanted to make it through the holiday rush and get back to work.

“Tonight will be perfect,” Jenny declared, raising her glass. “Your parents will be blown away, we’ll have Axel eating out of our hands and everyone will live happily ever after.”

Elaine’s smile felt stiff as she lifted her champagne flute to her friends’ highball glasses. “To happily ever after.”

The bright sound of clinking glasses penetrated the din of piped-in music and high-octane conversation. She would get past this, Elaine told herself. Loneliness and yearning were for losers. Tonight would be perfect.

She watched the bubbles in her champagne cocktail. Through the half-empty glass, she spied something—someone—that made her freeze. She forgot to breathe, to move, to think.

Everything receded into a blur of color and sound, everything except him. He came into sharp focus, each detail about him familiar despite the passage of—she counted quickly in her head—seven years. Seven years this very day, in fact.

She felt trapped, yet at the same time helplessly enchanted, as though she were drowning in honey. All the intensity of first love came roaring back at her, possessing her, waking up feelings she had thought long dead.