We both stared at him.

“You’re not that subtle. So are you guys hooking up or what?”

Luke got defensive. “We’re not just hooking up.”

“We’re . . .” I began, uncertain of the exact words I was looking for: Together? An item? Boyfriend-girlfriend?

“Shit,” Blair said. “You guys are in love. I knew there was something up, but I didn’t know it was as serious as all that.” A thousand things raced across his eyes, and I tried to catch hold of at least one—was there sadness, shock?—but then he obliterated it with a smile. “Well, congrats, guys. Just no weird PDA, okay? I still have to live with you.”

And that, at least for many years to come, was that.

Liz Is New Here

ON THE first Sunday in February, the dancers of Tango Fortunado are performing in the Plaza Dorrego, practicing a new routine they’ve put together for an upcoming festival. Unlike many of the street performers—who wear tuxes and sequined dresses even in the middle of the sweltering summer—the girls are in tight, tiny black shorts and the men in dark pants, both with their signature T-shirts broadcasting their allegiance to Gianluca Fortunado.

I see Gemma sitting with Edward at the edge of a space that’s been cleared for the four couples who make up the performance team, and she waves me over.

“Edward, darling, look who it is!” Gemma quickly procures an extra wineglass from the waiter and tips the last of their rosé into my glass.

I kiss their cheeks. Edward smiles at me but looks a bit pained; his sunglasses are pulled down over his eyes.

“Someone,” Gemma says, “is feeling a little rough after last night. Really, darling, I’m disappointed in you. If a night out with me at La Brigada is going to level you, I don’t know how you’re going to keep up your reputation.”

“Gemma, an hour out with you would level lesser men.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. By the way, Liz, you should come over tonight. Just a small get-together. They’ll be there.” She gestures at the team.

“Yes.” Edward smiles. “Please come. I cannot promise I won’t be in the back bedroom with a cold pack, but Gemma will look after you.”

“You’re going soft!”

“Three bottles of Malbec with this one last night,” Edwards says. “Plus cocktails before and after.”

“Jesus,” I say.

“It was over the course of many hours. And the steaks at La Brigada absorb at least half of that. The only way,” she says, gesturing to the waiter to bring another bottle, “is to keep drinking now, just something light. This rosé is practically water!”

I notice the crowd growing quiet as Gianluca appears.