Maya studied him. “The last gala nearly put me in the hospital.”
“The last gala was part of what finally got me to stop being an idiot.”
“That’s not exactly reassuring.”
He came farther into the kitchen, loosening his tie. “Then don’t come.”
She tapped the envelope. “Do you want me there?”
His answer was quiet. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I want you with me.” He leaned one hip against the counter. “But wanting something and deserving it aren’t always the same.”
Maya looked back at the invitation. She could almost hear the music already, smell the perfume and champagne and judgment. She could also feel the version of herself who had left the first one humiliated and shaking. She did not want to remain her forever.
“I’ll come,” she said.
Taylor’s expression changed—surprise first, then caution. “Only if you want to.”
“I don’t,” she said. “But maybe that isn’t the point.”
