When it came to sex, Cory had always erred on the side of stealth—conscious, I suppose, of his mother’s presence in the house—but we scattered our clothes all over the landing and stairs that morning, and it didn’t seem to bother him at all. I tried to whisper warnings, but I only got as far as “Wait . . .” or “What about . . .” before he filled my mouth with more kisses. When we reached the shower, I was the one who kept glancing over his slippery shoulder at the open bathroom door; he never even looked round.

I didn’t properly relax until we were on the mattress with the door firmly shut; only in the melting darkness beneath the covers could I find my focus—and find him. In the privacy of our bed, my skin meshed with his skin in an equal warmth, my arms and legs slid easily around his arms and legs, and I finally fell into step.

We stayed in bed for the rest of the day. So much for phoning my boss and packing my bags for tomorrow. I slept through the afternoon and woke in the early evening, when the wedding party had begun to get raucous and the speakers were booming.

Cory was standing at the window with his arms folded and his forehead on the glass. I propped myself up on my elbow.

“I can see you watching me,” he said, and I realised he wasn’t looking outward at the garden but inward at my reflection.

I smiled.

“What are you thinking?” he said.

It was difficult to gauge his tone when he had his back turned and his face was a blurry reflection in the glass. An argument was brewing on the lawn; I heard a woman’s slurred shrieks and a man’s voice shouting over her, and the music went up several notches in volume as if to drown them out. I thought Cory would mind, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I suppose I was thinking about having to go home tomorrow.”

When he shook his head, I got out of bed and looped my arms around him. I laid my face against his back and laced my fingers over his chest.

“I don’t want you to go,” he said. “It feels like the end of the world.”

I tried not to smile too much. With my face resting on his shoulder blade, he was bound to feel the muscles move in my cheeks.

“It won’t be the end of the world.” I was sure of myself, for once, as I let myself drift on the rise and fall of his breathing. “It’ll be the beginning. Why don’t you come to London tomorrow? Stay with me and Dad for a while?”