I opened the closet doors, quickly closing them behind me so the automatic lights didn’t stir the prince in his sleep, and I looked around. What’s something Graham never touches? A drawer he never opens, a clothing item he never wears?

That’s when his suit popped out at me, beetling out of the back rack like a fully glammed Kardashian at a Whole Foods. The suit he’s never worn since we’ve been together, but that he insists was a good investment. The one he’ll probably wear for our wedding.

I felt the material up and down until I found the flap pocket. The envelope fit perfectly inside. It was noticeable, the cash creating a bulge, but it was hidden for now. As hidden as it needed to be.

Just like me.

SEVENTEEN

Graham’s snoring sounds like the ferry’s horn as it leaves the Wall Street station on those days after work when Graham and I would take a spontaneous trip to our favorite restaurant in Vinegar Hill. On the way back, we’d walk the Brooklyn Bridge with mini bottles of champagne for dessert. It always felt like the most New York thing: to take a boat to another borough because we liked the pork chops. We only did it a handful of times, but it never got less exciting. It was a rare moment when I could forget the five-year plan and just be.

I try to ride the wave of that feeling now, lying in bed next to Graham, in a room so dark you’d think there was no moon outside. So dark your pupils could take over your entire iris and still find nothing to lock onto. But the feeling fades as quickly as the memory until I feel stuck again, my eyes bloodshot, my throat hot and stinging with acidic bile, my teeth brushed so many times my gums are raw.

If Graham was with someone who actually slept, he would have gone to a somnologist at this point; she would have put him on a CPAP machine to shut him the fuck up. But I found the snores comforting, a kind of white noise in the background of my night; and a surefire way to know if he was awake and I was about to get caught.

By the end of the cocktail party, Graham was mildly drunk but hid it well. Probably because Reed kept such a close eye on him, guiding him away from risky conversations, not letting him kiss me for that long, following him around with a constantly refilled glass of ice water. Graham’s drunkenness made Reed vulnerable. Too many boyhood secrets ready to be revealed at any moment—all it takes is one too many Jack and Cokes. It was fascinating to watch.