He left me in the bedroom, and I closed the door. I took the dress out of the plastic. It was a bright red bandage minidress. After I put it on, I looked in the mirror. Going a size up felt better. It was tight, but I could breathe. I put on my ring, my earrings, and clipped up my wet hair. I opened the door and said, “I’m confused about this neckline. Is it off the shoulder or like a cold shoulder?”

Chris came in. “You can wear it both ways.” He pulled the straps down. “I like it off the shoulders.”

“Fine.” I spread out my arms. “Approved?”

His eyes went up and down my body. “You look lovely.”

“Go down and I’ll be there in a bit.”

From inside one of the dresser drawers, he brought out a flat velvet box. “Just to gild the lily …” He opened it. Inside was a diamond necklace—a rivière, to be exact—starting with small round diamonds in the back and culminating in a sizable central diamond in front. It sparkled like fireworks. He took it out of the box. “May I?”

I shook my head. “Thank you, but no.”

His face fell. “C’mon. Please?”

“I don’t want the necklace.”

His eyes went flat. “Terry, it’ll make me look good, okay?”

“Yeah, but it’ll make me look bad … like you’re placating me with jewelry.”

“Just do me a favor and wear the damn thing.”

“No, Chris. I’m already doing you a favor, remember?” He didn’t answer. I said, “It’s too much bling with the earrings and the ring. I know how women think. They’ll think I’m overdoing it or lording it over them. I’ll wear your mother’s cross. It means more to me than that. I don’t want it. Take it back. It’s getting late. Go.”

He threw the necklace on the bed and left.

As promised, I came down a half hour later, resplendent in his mother’s silver cross. The chain was long, so I had knotted it up so it would fit my neckline. There were around forty people—about thirty men and ten women. He had two bars going as well as passed trays of hors d’oeuvres and free-flowing champagne. Talia was flitting around the room, flirting with the men, but mainly making sure that everything ran like clockwork.

I saw Badger and Fenton and gave them each a peck on the cheek as they went to join the men in manly conversation. I headed toward the women. Kirstin was with Amanda, Jess, and someone I didn’t know, standing off to the side of the bar, drinking—what else?—champagne. I walked over to them. “Hiya.”

Kirstin said, “You look nice.”