Sam came to pick me up himself.

The black dress fit the way it had been ordered to fit. Hair up. Danielle's makeup still holding under the almost-winter porch light. Sam's gaze moved over me once, satisfied.

"Perfect," he said. "For this."

In the car he took the back seat beside me. The driver kept his eyes on the road. Sam's shoulder occupied more space than it needed. I watched the city harden into hotel lights and said nothing.

The restaurant was VIP-side: low music, thick carpet, tables set apart so conversations could stay expensive. A host led us toward a corner booth that was not fully private and not...