“A few years. Since my husband got the ambassador appointment. We were living in a smaller place before. Easier, I think.” I gave a look that must’ve suggested confusion. “You need a lot of help in a place like this,” she continued as Ampy walked in with a tray and placed it on the table. “And it’s hard to find good workers in the States. They always want things—more money, time off to go back to their country. So we had to bring Ampy from overseas.”

Ampy said nothing, just stirred sugar into the tea and handed her the cup and saucer. The ambassador’s wife took them from Ampy’s quivering hands, then blew the rising steam from the cup before taking a tiny sip. “Would you like to see the rest of the house?” she asked, putting the cup back on the tray and standing up. She brushed imaginary dust from her pants.

A shiver zipped through me. I stood and followed her to the kitchen. There was a granite-top island with half a dozen burners in the middle, pots and spatulas hanging above it. It looked like a restaurant kitchen. We barely stopped before she directed me through the next doorframe and into the dining room. She turned on the light. I stood in the doorway attempting to appear interested, though by then I was too anxious to notice anything. She flipped the switch off, and I followed her back through the living room to the foyer, to the bottom of the staircase that led upstairs, lined with framed family photos. She walked up a few stairs. I followed.

“This was in Courchevel,” she said, pointing to a cluster of frames, “when my son was still a baby.”

I tried to focus on the picture, on her son in his ski suit and goggles, but all I could think about was how close we were standing. Our upper arms touched and my teeth chattered. Unintentionally I dropped down a stair.

I told her I needed to go. She said nothing. I repeated it, that I needed to go home. I had no idea what was propelling me, but I was certain that I wasn’t in control, that it wasn’t me inching closer to her, and closer. I felt my spit dry up, abandoning me. She was still a step higher as I strained to reach her mouth. Before my lips touched hers, she pulled back. Her blue eyes seared through my brown ones. “I’m sorry,” I said. What had I just done? “I’m so sorry.”