“They aren’t weird, you hardheaded woman. They’re”—he shrugs—“you. It’s delightful.”

“Hmph.”

“Now,” Jamie’s mother says, “time for dinner—”

His father interrupts her. “A dance first.”

She frowns. “Arthur, a dance? Why on earth—”

“A waltz, Aline.” He turns toward her. “I want a waltz with my beautiful wife.”

She preens under his compliment. “Well,” she says softly. “I suppose one waltz wouldn’t be the end of the world.”

· TWENTY-EIGHT ·

Jamie

As always, Maman goes along with my father’s manipulations, apologizing to her guests that they’re changing the order of ceremonies just a little, that now she’ll give her toast, and we’ll have one dance before going in to dinner.

I’m not sure what my father has planned, but I know it’s a punishment. Somehow, he’s going to humiliate me. Because in his eyes, I’ve humiliated him. No matter that I’ve only told him hundreds of times I can’t be a surgeon. That I’m not meant to cut people open but instead keep them whole. To him, I’m an embarrassment, unworthy of the family name, and when he gave me yet another chance to rectify that, I obstinately refused him.

And now I’m going to pay.

“To Arthur!” my mother says, raising her champagne.

Bea and I raise our glasses perfunctorily. Neither of us drinks. She turns and faces me. “Hey. Do you want to—”

“James.”

My father’s voice cuts our conversation like a knife. String music starts up. I face him as he smiles coldly. “Why don’t you lead us, son?”

Dread settles like cement in my stomach and seeps into my lungs. I tug at my bow tie, feeling my chest constrict. I hate being the center of attention, and he knows it. My punishment has been meted out. Bea glances between us, her eyes narrowing at my father.

I nod. “Yes, sir.”

Bea’s practically hissing as he turns away. “What the hell was that—”

“He wants to embarrass me,” I tell her, tugging at my bow tie again, adjusting my cuffs until the buttons bisect my wrists, taking a deep breath as I mentally prepare. “He knows I hate being in the spotlight.”

“So fuck him,” she whispers. “Let’s leave.”

I smile down at her, clasping her hand. “Ah, but then he wins.”

“Let him win, then. If it makes you miserable, I don’t want to do it.”

I search her eyes. “In the past it might have, but tonight it won’t be so bad.”

She tips her head, stepping closer and squeezing my hand. “Why?”

“Because I’ll be dancing with you.” I squeeze her hand back. “That is, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t,” she says quietly, smiling up at me. “But I can’t promise it won’t be a disaster. And I’ll definitely step on your toes.”