Natalia, however, is the star of the show—she’s smiling and cooing. I can’t take my eyes off her, and when Felicia gets to hold her, jealousy knifes through me. Felicia lives three blocks away. She can see Natalia all the time.

Leo finally comes back in, washes his hands in the kitchen and returns to the table. “Nice night,” he says, sitting back in his seat as Loki trots off to collapse in the living room.

“Would you like to hold the baby?” Felicia asks, offering him Natalia as if she’s a loaf of bread.

“No, thank you.”

I don’t see how he can resist petting the baby, or touching her adorable little foot, which she keeps kicking in his direction.

“Leo, do you have children?” Ana-Sofia asks.

“No.”

There’s an awkward silence. “Leo’s great with older kids, though,” I offer.

“It must be so rewarding, Leo, introducing children to music,” Ana says.

“Sometimes.”

“Tell them about Evander,” I suggest.

He doesn’t answer. Does pour himself more wine, though.

“Evander is an actual child prodigy,” I say to cover. “Leo thinks he has great potential. You should hear this kid play. He’s amazing. I get goose bumps, and I don’t even like classical music.” I smile. Leo does not smile back.

“Jenny, remember when I took you to the Met to hear The Magic Flute, and you fell asleep?” Owen says fondly.

“I don’t remember the opera. I do remember that nice nap, though.”

Talk turns to music, and I feel myself getting more irritated with Leo. After all, he’s probably more qualified than anyone here to talk about that particular subject, but he doesn’t say a word, just sips wine. Not very slowly, either. Though the others try to bring him into the conversation, his answers are curt.

I wish I hadn’t brought him.

As Ana-Sofia starts to clear dessert dishes, I stand up to help her—no one else does, I’m irritated to note. “Jenny, please, you’re our guest,” she says gently.

“She wasn’t always, though, was she?” Leo asks mildly. “She was once the hostess. Probably still remembers where everything goes.”

The table falls silent, and my face burns.

Then we hear the unmistakable gacking of a dog about to puke. Ooah. Ooah. Ooaaah... And puke Loki does, right under the coffee table.

“I’ll get that,” I say, grateful—yes, grateful!—that I can clean dog puke instead of sit there and fight the urge to kick Leo in the shins. Ana-Sofia assures us it’s fine, the rug is nothing special, just something she picked up in Syria a few years ago—probably a priceless gift from a tribal lord, knowing Ana.

But I do remember where the paper towels are, and she’s holding the baby now, so yeah, I help clean it up, trying not to dry-heave myself—dinner was good, and leave it to Ana-Sofia to make vegan food not only palatable but delicious.

Owen helps. Leo doesn’t. Leo, the ass, has Loki’s leash out and the dynamic duo stands by the door. I assume we’re leaving.

I wash my hands in the kitchen. “Jenny,” Owen says, “I don’t know exactly what Leo meant, but I hope you know how much Ana-Sofia and I love having you in our lives.”

“No, I do. He’s... He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

Owen fixes me with a long look, then takes my hand. Being a surgeon, Owen has always taken very good care of his hands. They’re smooth and immaculate, his nails trimmed perfectly. The gold band on his left hand still looks very new.

I always loved his hands. So gentle and perfect. He used to rub my shoulders almost every night, knowing that at least part of my day had been spent at a sewing machine or bent over a sketch pad, and he’d joke that it was good for his hands, too, to keep them strong for the long surgeries when he’d have to wield his instruments with such precision and care. My favorite part of sex with him was the way his hands would skim across my skin, so gentle and thorough.

“It’s good to see you,” he murmurs. “I miss talking every day.”

My throat is suddenly tight. “Well,” I whisper. “Me, too.”

“Maybe we can have lunch or dinner sometime. Just us two. Really catch up.”

“That’d be nice.” I clear my throat. “I guess I should get going.”

I say goodbye to the other guests, which is horribly awkward with Leo standing over by the door like a kid who can’t wait to leave Grandma’s. Ana and Owen walk me to where he stands, his face neutral. A weird energy is crackling off him. Dog stress, no doubt. “Thank you for a wonderful night,” I say, kissing both of my hosts on the cheek.

“Very nice to have met you, Leo,” Owen says.

“We hope we’ll see you again,” Ana-Sofia seconds.

“Nice to meet you, too,” Leo manages.

“I’ll call you about lunch, okay?” Owen says. He takes the baby from Ana-Sofia and makes her wave her tiny fist at me. It might be my imagination, but I think Natalia Genevieve just smiled at me. My heart clenches, and I force a smile, which drops the second the door is closed.

The dog won’t get into the elevator, so Leo picks him up, getting a faint growl. I look at the dog, whose eyes are cloudy with cataracts. Poor thing. First the seizures, now the barfing. Leo probably should put him down. The dog burps at me. Just what I needed. The smell is disgusting.

The elevator doors open and Leo puts Loki down. I wave to the doorman—Steve, always so nice—and he nods back. Seems he’s forgotten me.