“Tomorrow works,” I said. “Early evening.”
Edward inclined his head slightly.
“I’ll have my assistant send the details. Seven o’clock.”
Thomas’s smile remained, but it had narrowed.
“You’re visiting from out of town?”
“I live here,” Edward said. “Upper East Side.”
“I see.”
Thomas nodded, then added, “And your interest in Laura?”
Edward paused just long enough to make the question feel heavier than intended.
“Personal.”
Thomas did not press further.
He couldn’t.
The room was still watching, and he understood optics better than most people.
“Well,” he said, “we look forward to it.”
Edward turned back to me.
“Thank you for agreeing.”
Then he stepped away, moving through the crowd with the same unhurried precision, leaving a trail of murmurs behind him.
The energy in the ballroom shifted.
It wasn’t dramatic, just slightly misaligned.
Conversations resumed, but people glanced toward me more often.
The woman beside me introduced herself as Patricia, though she had already done so earlier.
The surgeon asked what I thought of the foundation’s new initiatives.
Both questions felt less like curiosity and more like reassessment.
Thomas returned to the stage briefly to close the program.
His voice regained its rhythm, but the easy confidence from earlier had softened.
I watched him speak, noting the subtle differences.
Fewer jokes.
Shorter pauses.
A quicker finish.
He thanked sponsors, reminded guests about donation pledges, and concluded with a toast.
Applause followed, polite and sustained, but the room’s attention had shifted.
