the eager attention of people deciding whether he was important enough to flatter. Alex felt the night opening for him like a stage.
The waitress slowed to pass behind Vivienne. One of the glasses on her tray clicked softly against another.
Alex turned.
He let his eyes travel over the uniform, the tray, the plain black shoes, and finally the young woman’s calm face. There was a stillness about her that irritated him, though he could not have explained why. She was not admiring the room. She was not shrinking from it either.
She simply seemed present.
Alex smiled.
It was not a kind smile.
‘You there,’ he said.
The waitress stopped immediately. ‘Sir?’
Her voice was steady. Too steady.
A few people turned, sensing entertainment.
Alex lifted his champagne glass and tilted his head toward the orchestra. ‘Can you dance?’
The waitress looked at the musicians, then back at him. ‘I can follow music.’
A quiet laugh moved through the small circle around them. Alex enjoyed that. He liked an audience that warmed quickly.
‘That is not what I asked,’ he said. ‘I asked whether you can dance.’
Vivienne touched his sleeve. ‘Alex.’
Her tone pretended to warn him, but her smile encouraged him.
The waitress did not answer at once. She held the tray carefully, her fingers placed evenly along the silver rim. Alex noticed that her hands were elegant. He noticed it only because he was trying to find something else to mock.
He raised his voice so the people nearby would hear every word.
‘If you can really dance,’ he said, ‘I will leave Vivienne tonight and marry you instead.’
For half a second, the ballroom hesitated.
Then laughter broke open.
It came from the donors first, polite and sharp, then from the younger guests, who had less practice pretending cruelty was wit. Someone at the edge of the group lifted a phone. Another person whispered, ‘Oh, this is terrible,’ while smiling as if terrible were exactly what she had come to see.
Vivienne leaned into Alex’s arm. ‘You are impossible,’ she said.
But she laughed too.
The waitress stood motionless.
The tray trembled once, so slightly only Alex and Vivienne seemed to notice. No glass fell. No champagne spilled. Her face did not collapse into embarrassment. She did not plead with him to stop. She did not rush away.
She looked at Alex.
Then she looked at the laughing faces around him.
Then she looked back.
Alex would remember that look later.
At the time, he mistook it for defeat.
‘What is wrong?’ he asked, stepping closer. ‘Afraid?’
The word floated between them.
The waitress lowered her eyes for a moment, not in shame but as though she were thinking. When she raised them again, they were calm enough to make Vivienne’s smile falter.
‘I am working,’ she said.
That answer should have ended the game.
But Alex did not like being denied in front of people. He especially did not like being denied by someone in uniform.
He laughed and turned toward the guests. ‘Working. Of course. We must not interrupt the sacred duty of collecting empty glasses.’
More laughter.
The waitress gave a small nod, as if accepting a fact about him rather than an instruction from him. Then she moved past them,
