“I seem unable to pick a partner who views monogamy as a rule, not the exception.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t realize—”

He shrugs as if saying… it is what it is.

Who would’ve imagined? Ethan, cheated on? It makes me sad knowing someone caused him the pain I experienced because I know how it changes you. It diminishes you and makes you question your worth. Ethan should never question himself. He has it all, and so much to offer.

“If nothing else, we have that in common,” I say sourly.

He turns to me. “That’s the last thing I want to have in common with you.”

Ethan seems angry suddenly, and I don’t know if he’s mad at me or in general. I can’t read his reactions right now. “Enough of this,” he says. “If I’m not back in five minutes, send back-up,” he jokes and gets up.

“Where are you going?”

He puts a finger to his lips and goes in the direction of the party.

It’s been five minutes, and he’s not back. I’m on my feet, looking out in the distance, but I can’t see him anywhere. Then I suddenly hear voices coming from somewhere to the right of where I’m standing. From the darkness, a group of people approaches—two women, wearing long dresses and holding their shoes in one hand, a glass of wine in the other, two men in black suits, and Ethan.

“I got hijacked,” he says when they reach me.

I don’t know if they just met or they’ve known each other before tonight, but they all seem super comfortable with each other.

“Cleo, Rebecca, Greg, Ian, this is Maya,” says Ethan.

They all smile and shake my hand.

“Nice to meet you,” I say, slightly uncomfortable.

The men huddle around Ethan, close enough that I see him looking my way from time to time, far enough that I don’t hear their conversation.

“Want to sit?” asks Rebecca. “My feet are killing me.”

“Sure,” I say.

“We’re taking a break from the chaos,” she says, pointing at the terrace. “My sister’s engagement.”

“Congratulations,” I say.

“Thank you. It was such a nice surprise to see Ethan here,” says Cleo. “Small world.”

“Are you guys friends?” I ask.

“Rebecca and I work at a magazine in Monterey. Breeze. It’s OK if you haven’t heard of it,” she adds, guessing by my stare what I was about to say. “We met Ethan a few years ago when he started writing articles for Breeze.”

“Nice,” I say.

“Are you two—” asks Rebecca.

I smile awkwardly. Thank God it’s somewhat dark here. I think I’m blushing.

“No. No. We’re just… friends,” I say.

“Too bad,” says Cleo.

You tell me?

“Are you a reporter or an editor?” I ask Cleo.

“I’m a sportswriter.”

“That’s cool. What kind of sports?”

As she starts talking about some of the events she’s excited to cover this summer, I find out most of them are car-related, and I immediately think of Celine.