“Well, that’s certainly true. Hosting is never quite as fun as going to a party, is it? Sophia, it’s so lovely to see you again. You’re always welcome in this house.”
I squeeze the hand holding mine. “Thank you,” I tell her honestly. “That’s very kind of you.”
“That’s what family does,” she says, and her eyes burn a little brighter.
I swallow. “Thank you.”
Amelia and her husband are higher on the ladder than the Brownes. They also seem considerably nicer, from the brief interactions I’ve had with them, but outward politeness is common in these circles. It’s a currency, a commodity, and it often masks very different feelings.
I’m not ready for new and demanding in-laws.
“Sophia has put together a brilliant prototype for a coffee table book about the Winter Hotel,” Isaac says, and puts a hand on my lower back. “It was her idea, too. We could fill it with iconic pictures and stories about guests or parties.”
Amelia puts her hands together. “That is a wonderful idea! Oh, I’d love to lend a hand, dear. I don’t know if my son has told you, but I’ve written a little something about the family, and there are a ton of stories about how the hotel was founded.”
“He has,” I say.
She reaches out and puts a hand on my forearm. “Would you like to come over one day? We can have a drink and talk things over. I can give you material for it.”
My smile turns strained. “Thank you for the generous offer, but I’m actually working on it as a project for the Winter Corporation.”
“Yes,” she says, “I gathered that.”
“What she means,” Isaac says dryly, “is that it’s a job. She’s paid for it, through Exciteur Consulting.”
Amelia drops her hand. “Oh,” she says. “Silly of me, of course. That’s such a modern way to do it.”
I give a dutiful chuckle. “Yes. But I would be happy to meet with you, of course, if Exciteur is hired to put together the official coffee table book. I imagine you have a ton of great stories.”
“Yes, I daresay I do. So, tell me more about your job. What do you do?” There’s patient politeness on her face, and smile that looks genuine. I don’t know if I trust it quite yet. But I do what she asks, telling her about what Isaac and I are working on together.
It’s almost an hour later when Isaac and I are back on our own, walking through the main sitting room. It’s a beautifully thrown party on all counts: music, decor, food and ambiance. An invitation to this party must be one of the milestones of having made it in New York society.
Isaac bends closer, his mouth brushing the shell of my ear. “How are you doing?”
“Great. I’d love another glass of wine.”
“You sure?”
“Why?” I ask. “Do you think I’ve had too much to drink?”
He chuckles. “No. But you’ve been… a bit quiet.”
“It’s nothing,” I say. “There are just a lot of people, and I want to be on my A-game.”
“You are,” he says. “Mingling is a breeze with you beside me.”
“Flatterer.”
He smiles and brushes back my hair, notching it behind my ear. “It’s the truth.”
“You don’t often bring dates to parties?”
“Sometimes,” he says, “but it’s rare. It’s usually more work than it’s worth.”
“That might sound harsh to others, but honestly? I can understand that completely.”
“I’ve been alone for a great many years,” he says, and gently tips my head back. “It always worked well for me. But I’m starting to think that’s just because I hadn’t met you yet.”