Page 36 of A Vicious Love

“Good,” he said.

Good. Like I was a dog. He had trained badly and frightened worse. My fork lowered. I did not pick it up again.

Dessert came later.

I didn’t eat that either.

I loved the Starlight Ball dessert. Every year they made sugar-glass swans filled with cream and berries, ridiculous delicate and too pretty to break. I used to tap the spoon against mine as gently as possible and feel guilty when the wings cracked.

Tonight, the swan sat untouched in front of me.

Its tiny spun-sugar neck curved gracefully.

Fragile thing, I thought.

Everyone always admired fragile things right before they broke them.

Jamison looked at the dessert, then at me.

“Do you want something else?”

The question startled me so badly I finally looked at him.

I shook my head. I wanted to tell him he had ruined the event. The whole foolish little belief that there were parts of him I could safely ask for.

Instead, I folded my napkin in my lap.

The speeches began after dessert.

A woman talked about family donations, legacy. Words floated through the room, meaningless and occasionally sincere. People clapped softly at the right places.

Jamison did not take another call.

That was new.

His phone buzzed several times. He looked at it once, then turned it face down on the table.

I noticed because noticing him was a habit I had not yet learned how to stop.

He kept his hands away from me.

I noticed that too.

When the auction started, he bid on something without looking at the stage. A private garden commission, I thought. Or maybe a hospital wing installation. The number was absurd. People clapped when the Crow table won.

Jamison’s face did not change.

The night stretched.

I wanted to leave.

The thought became the only clear thing in my head.

I want to leave.

When the final music began and guests drifted toward the floor again, I stayed seated.

Jamison remained beside me.