We headed to the dining room: high ceiling, dark oak paneling, the long mahogany table polished to a mirror shine, the crystal chandelier casting trembling reflections on the glasses. The smell of furniture wax and fresh white roses hit me like an unwanted memory, thick and oppressive.

My mother indicated my place with a nod.

"Andrew, dear, your seat is next to Evelyn." The smile remained unchanged, but her eyes were a peremptory command.

I avoided grimaces and sat down. I felt like a teenager again, trapped in a performance I hadn't chosen.

Fuck, when will this end?

Evelyn turned to me.

"You don't seem in great form tonight," she observed.

I didn't know what to answer.

For a second I stayed silent, then the illumination came like an escape route.

"It's been an intense period at the firm," I said. "We're wrapping up the selection for a new junior associate."

Preston Whitmore interjected politely, setting down his champagne flute.

"Your mother told us you had a lot of candidates for the interview."

"Yes, a substantial number," I nodded.

"Was it hard to choose?" he asked.

My mother intervened before I could open my mouth.

"Let's say up to the first seventy-five we were sure they could go home," she said with a light laugh. "But in the end only two proved truly capable. Though, to be honest, one of the two girls seemed rather arrogant. Wait, what was her name... a certain Reed?"

"Madison Reed," I completed.

"Exactly." My mother sipped her champagne.

I hadn't taken part directly in the main interviews, but Marcus had told me how Madison had shut my mother up with a perfect answer to the usual trap question: "Why do you want to work here?" I would have paid to see that scene. Anyway, unlike the other candidate, when I'd asked both the final question, Reed had answered excellently. The other... well, she'd floundered a bit. She'd tried to save what she could, but the strain had shown.

I took the glass of Château Margaux a waiter had just filled. Dark red, almost black under the chandelier light, full-bodied, with that deep scent of ripe cassis, sweet tobacco, and a thread of licorice rising straight to the nose. I took a long sip, letting the tannin graze my throat in that pleasant, rough way I always liked, like a small punishment reminding you you're drinking something serious.

I checked my wristwatch: 9:15.

Shit.

The evening would drag on for hours yet, and I was already cursing inside.

The first course arrived: smoked salmon fillet on a bed of arugula, with balsamic reduction and caviar pearls.

I took a bite, chewed slowly, then emptied the glass in two swallows. With a look I signaled the waiter to refill it.

If I had to endure this whole performance, at least let the wine do its job: blur the edges, soften the corners, make the theater a little more bearable.

Evelyn noticed the gesture and smiled. "I see you love wine."

"Yes," I answered, without elaborating.

My mother shot me a glance that could have frozen the Margaux.

I held her gaze for a second, then looked away.

"Who doesn't love wine in this America?" Preston interjected again with a good-natured laugh.

My father made a grimace; he too hated the Whitmores' presence, except for the daughter. He hoped for a marriage as much as my mother, but for different reasons: name continuity.

That Château Margaux was starting to take effect. A deep heat, starting in the stomach and spreading through the veins.

Like a sudden flash, the memory of that evening crossed me, taking me straight back to the club, to the bathroom, to him.

Fuck.

I wanted to see him again.

I wanted to push him back against that wall, feel his tight heat enveloping me, his moans filling my mouth as I made him mine once more, slower this time, deeper, until he trembled again beneath me, until I felt him give in completely, his body yielding to my rhythm, to my need, without defenses anymore.

And I wanted it all: his taste on my tongue, his sweat on my skin, his breath telling me that, in that moment, he was mine. Only mine. Even if I didn't even know his name.

Fuck.

Any guy would have been ideal in that moment.

Someone who didn't ask for names, explanations, a future.

Then the idea came to me.

I took the phone from my jacket's inner pocket, made it vibrate once against my palm, then brought it to my ear, feigning surprise. I stood from the table, the chair scraping softly on the floor.

"Excuse me, work call."

My mother pinned me with her gaze, eyes narrowed into slits.

"Now?" she asked.

I nodded, already halfway to the library door.

"Hello? Oh, it's you, Axel. What's happening?"

I closed the door behind me.

The library was dark, lit only by the light filtering from the hallway. I leaned against the desk, the wood cold under my palms, and recited the rest in a skilled voice, but loud enough to carry beyond the door.

"I understand... yes. I'm at dinner right now, but I can make an exception. Give me ten minutes, and I'll be there."

Fake pause, as if really listening.

"Perfect. See you later."

I hung up, stayed still for a second, breathing.

My pulse quickened, but not from the lie.

It was from anticipation.

I returned to the dining room with a calm step, phone still in hand like proof.

"Unfortunately a colleague needs urgent help with a file."

My mother paled, lips tightening into a thin line.

"Can't you handle it tomorrow morning?"

"No," I interrupted, with calm firmness.

"It's an important client. And we all know we have to be available 24/7 for them."

Evelyn's mother nodded immediately, understanding.

"You're right, young man. Duty first."

Preston raised his glass in a toast.

"Go ahead. We'll have other chances to see each other."

My mother said nothing more. But I saw it in her eyes: she wouldn't forgive me this easily. Her silence was worse than any reproach.

I said goodbye with a polite nod, the kind that serves only to keep up appearances without betraying anything of what was boiling inside, and headed toward the exit.

As I crossed the hallway, I thought of Axel; dragging him into it had been dirty, I knew, but I needed it.

I needed an excuse to escape that table, those fake smiles, that life that had been suffocating me for years.

That evening I wanted to be free again.

Free to choose who to desire.

Who to touch.

Who to be.

Even if only for a few hours.