She did not know what to do with wanting someone who had originally wanted to win.
He, for his part, seemed to understand that pressure would ruin everything. He never cornered. Never demanded emotional declarations. Never used the vocabulary of sacrifice. He simply remained. Attentive. Irritating. Present.
Then came September, and with it the gala invitation.
Not the same hotel. Not the same charity. But the same world.
Maya found the envelope on the entry table. Heavy cream paper. Black script. Taylor’s company logo embossed on the back. She looked at it for a long time before opening it.
When he came home that evening, she was at the kitchen island turning the card over in her hands.
“You don’t have to go,” he said immediately.
She glanced up. “You already know what it is?”
“I told my assistant to leave it there in case you wanted the choice.”
