“Your party is already here,” the hostess says.

She tosses a curtain of sleek black hair over her shoulder and turns on her not-so-sensible heels.

We make our way to the other side of the dining room, where she pulls back a bamboo divider to reveal another room with a table that seats ten. Seven are taken by a group of laughing and talking people who are apparently my age but seem much older. They are like a scene straight off my Instagram “Discover Page.” You know the kind, the strangers with mind-blowing lives and four thousand likes per selfie. They’re somehow all ridiculously beautiful, with polished outfits, blown-out hair and dazzling smiles.

We step into the room, and half the table turns to look at us.

“Sara, this is Heather, Ava, Brian, Myra, Jason, Christine and Bennet,” Braden says, gesturing toward the table. “Everyone, this is Sara.”

They all greet us at once, rendering individual words indistinguishable.

I half raise a hand and smile as Braden and I take the two remaining seats.

The napkin on my plate is folded so intricately that I almost feel bad undoing it. I am gently pulling on the corner of mine when Braden yanks his open. I blush and quickly undo mine and place it on my lap.

I open my menu and scan for a word I recognize or a price under forty dollars, to no avail.

Looking up, I open my mouth to speak to Braden, but he is deep in conversation about prep school crew team with the guy next to him. He is twisted so far that I can’t see much except the back of his suit jacket. Part of me misses Robbie. Braden can be great and all, when you are the center of his attention. But Robbie is good at making sure everyone in the room feels comfortable. I could use that right now.

“So.” Across the table a girl with olive skin and striking green eyes sets down her drink. “Henry messaged me last night, on the PT—that’s what I’m calling Perfect10 now.” She turns to Braden. “B, if you start to use that, you owe me money, by the way.”

He laughs. I am very aware that he does not turn to me, and that she was clearly addressing him alone. I wonder if he has mentioned that I am his cofounder, as well as his girlfriend.

“Ava, are you kidding me? Henry?” the girl sitting across from her, Christine, I believe, says. “Boooo,” she adds.

Ava rolls her eyes and takes another sip of her drink. “I don’t know, I was drunk and I answered, okay?” She shrugs and her friend places her head in her hands.

A waiter in an all-black ensemble and white apron parts the bamboo divider and Ava flags him down.