Chapter 6

Nadia spent the morning pretending things were normal. She made breakfast. She braided Mia's hair. She answered her sister's questions about the blazer with a shrug and a half-truth — a guest spilled something on her, the guest insisted she take the coat, no it wasn't a big deal. Margo looked at her for a long moment, then let it go. That was the thing about sisters: they knew when to stop asking, because they knew you would tell them when you could.

But normal did not hold. At eleven, a car pulled up outside the building — a black sedan with tinted windows that idled at the curb for a long moment before a man got out. He was young, dark auburn hair cropped close, freckled fair skin, a black jacket over a white shirt with no tie. Nadia recognized him from the ballroom.

Ross Calloway.

He crossed the street and stood at the bottom of the stoop, and he looked up at the building like he was working out which window was hers. Nadia watched him from behind the curtain of her sister's living room. Her hand went to her pocket — empty, the ring was still in the blazer on the hook — and she made herself breathe.

Mia was in the other room watching television. Margo had gone to the store. It was just Nadia and the man on the stoop and the rain starting up again.

He knocked. Three times, steady.

Nadia opened the door a few inches. Ross Calloway stood there with rain darkening the shoulders of his jacket, and he looked at her with a face that had not decided what it was going to say.