“Of course.” I thought a moment. “In America, there were lots of gunshot wounds. In Mumbai, there are many more stabbings with knives and swords, believe it or not. So India is messier but less lethal, while America is cleaner but more lethal.”

To Chris, he said, “I see you keep illustrious company.”

“She’s one of a kind,” Chris answered. He nodded and a server appeared from the mist. “WhistlePig neat, ice on the side.” To me: “What would you like?”

“Coffee, please.”

“You sure?”

I lifted my right arm encased in a cast. “I’m still on medication.”

“What happened?” Badger asked.

Chris smiled, but his eyes were cold. “That’s what goes down when someone crosses me.”

When no one spoke, I said, “He’s kidding. I was in a car accident.”

“Omigod,” Kirstin said. “Are you okay?”

“Obviously not,” Badger answered.

Kirstin turned bright red.

I said, “I’m fine. Just a little bruised.”

Chris said, “What can I get everyone?”

After all the drinks were ordered, conversation resumed with Chris directing. The drinks came, and everyone toasted to a good time. Things started out light, with the men doing all the talking. While Brie and Kirstin were beautiful, they were ornaments. For some reason, I no longer felt competitive. Instead, I had morphed into a protective den mother. Physically they looked as Chris had described them, but there was something worn and haunted in their eyes. I could relate: life was not turning out as we had pictured.

Twenty minutes went by with talk of stocks and bonds and mutual funds and real estate. Badger was spouting about his latest ventures that were printing cash. Denofrio was sitting stoic, nursing a jalapeño margarita. But he did have a notepad out. Chris had barely touched his drink, meaning he intended to stay sober for the evening.

I can control myself.

Kirstin caught my eye and smiled at me. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you very much.”

“Beautiful ring.”

Her voice was small and girlish. I looked down at my hand. “Thank you.”

“Did Mr. Donatti pick it out?”

“He did.”

“He has good taste.”

“Excellent taste.”

Brie said, “How did you two meet?” A pause. “Or is that too personal?”

I looked at Chris, who appeared to be deep in conversation. But then he said, “We went to high school together.”

That was a conversation stopper.

“High school?” Badger looked at me. “How old are you?”

“Not much younger than him,” I retorted.

“What are you? Like forty?”

Chris finally intervened. “It’s unseemly to ask a woman her age.”

“It’s no secret. I’m forty-two.”

“You preserve well,” Badger said.

“Just like a jar of strawberry jam.” I smiled. “Thank you.”

“Were you high school sweethearts?” Brie asked.

“Something like that.”

Chris said, “Actually, Terry is my ex-wife.”

“You were married?” Denofrio said.

The man could speak.

“He was and he’s masochistic enough to try it again,” I told him.