“Maya,” she said. “You look wonderful. Whatever you’re doing, it’s clearly working.”
Maya felt Taylor shift beside her, ready. She touched his wrist lightly without looking at him and answered for herself.
“I’m alive,” she said pleasantly. “That tends to improve a person’s face.”
The woman’s smile faltered. Taylor looked down as though suppressing something dangerous. When the woman retreated, he bent closer and murmured, “I’m in love with you a little for that sentence alone.”
Maya froze.
He had said it lightly. Perhaps too lightly. But nothing about the air between them felt light.
She turned her head. “A little?”
His eyes met hers. “I’m negotiating with my pride.”
Before she could answer, someone called his name from across the room. Business. Reputation. The machinery of the life that had built him. He excused himself with visible reluctance.
“Don’t go far,” he said.
