Edward emerges from the back of the house. He looks livelier than he did earlier, but a bit off-kilter too. His eyes are shining.

“Edward, I was just bragging about your art collection.”

“Ah, so bragging about your own taste then.”

“Credit where credit is due. And we were talking about skiing! Edward is quite a good skier,” Gemma says. “We used to go to Chamonix every year—why don’t we do that anymore?”

“Because you’re a terrible skier, among other reasons.”

“I’m hopeless at all sports as a rule, but I’ll get a couple of runs in as an excuse for the après ski. Have you been to Chamonix, Liz?”

“I have. I’ve skied all over the world, actually.” Why am I saying this? The champagne has gone straight to my head. I drank the first glass quickly and Gemma stealthily refilled it. I suppose I want them to know that I’m not as boring as the fake backstory that I’ve concocted: that I work on the administrative side at the resort. The truth is, unless I’m bullshitting with a stranger in a bar for five minutes, I’m not creative enough to imagine any life but the one I’ve lost.

“Have you?” Gemma says, her interest piqued.

“One of the many benefits of being the fifth wife of the Sultan of Brunei.”

Edward guffaws just as the doorbell sounds.

“Camilla!”

Edward is beaming when he walks back into the room with his beautiful dark-haired cousin. At first, I think she looks nothing like him with her olive skin and her mountain of thick curly hair, but then there is something similar too, something in the mannerisms. She and Gemma kiss hello, but there is a strange note of discomfort that I’m left wondering about.

Edward introduces us and we kiss hello too.

“Where are you from, Liz?”

“I’m American,” I say.

“You’re North American,” she corrects, and I’m momentarily stunned. “We’re both Americans, after all.” She smiles in a way that leaves little doubt as to what she thinks of my country.

“So you’re from here then?”

“One hundred percent Porteño. And what brings you to Buenos Aires?”

“Just visiting, I suppose. Learning some Spanish, leading tours.”

“You’re leading tours?” She raises her eyebrows.

“Just the main tourist sites. I guess they like having guides who speak English.”

She looks as though she might burst out laughing.

“And tango!” Gemma attempts a rescue. “She’s taking classes with Gianluca.”

“Of course,” Camilla says with a pointed look at Edward. “G loves his extranjeros.”

“Let’s get you a drink, Camilla,” Edward says, and Camilla flashes me a look that confirms that she finds me quite hilarious.

“Well, that went well,” I say to Gemma, feeling mortified.

“Don’t worry about it, she’ll warm up.”

“Will she?” I ask.

“Surely,” Gemma says. “Any day now!”