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Mark stood up straight and met Tarquin’s handshake. “Hi.”

He dropped Tarquin’s hand quickly, his eyes narrowing as they flew to Alex’s waist. They flitted back to her face, questioning. A sharp swoop of his hand swept his hair from his forehead.

A blonde in an ankle-length silver dress slipped around the corner of the photo booth and pounced on him. “Babe, did you see who I was talking—”

Fallon’s hand halted its journey along Mark’s chest, her attention leaping towards the subject of his stare. “Alex…hi. Congrats on your scene.” Her eyes jumped to Tarquin.

“Thanks, Fallon. You…were terrific.” A rehearsed fake smile trespassed across Alex’s cheeks. If it stretched any farther, she worried her foundation might crack. She looked up at Tarquin and squeezed his hand where it held her waist. “I’m ready.”

He nodded.

Her eyes bolted to her ex. “Take care, Mark…Fallon.”

Alex guided Tarquin away from the couple, weaving her way through the crowd to the stairs.

Once in the lobby, out of Mark’s sight, Tarquin stopped, forcing Alex to hit the brakes. “You okay?”

She nodded. “I can’t talk here.”

“Okay, so, Bespoke? Or…home?”

“Not mine. Yours.”