I pushed the door open. There on the couch, dead center, sat Noel and Florence, sharing a single grape between their lips.

The grape slipped. They fell into a deep, tangled kiss.

The men and women scattered around them whooped and hollered loud enough to shake the walls.

I didn't know how long I stood there before Noel finally noticed me in the doorway.

His eyes locked onto my gaunt, colorless face, and his expression darkened instantly. "What happened? Did someone give you trouble in there?"

Before I could say a word, Florence let out a sharp, mocking laugh.

"You really know how to play a man, Brooklyn. With your history with Noel, who would dare bully you? That sickly makeup is impressively realistic, though. Must've taken you ages."

Noel had been about to stand, but her words made him settle back into his seat.

He tapped out a cigarette, leaned toward the lighter Florence held up, and lit it.

Smoke curled across his face, blurring his features. Only his eyes were clear, fixed on me with barely concealed irritation.

"Since you've had time to reflect, come apologize to Florence."

Florence sat nestled against Noel's chest in a white dress, the picture of innocence, swirling a glass of something strong in her hand.

"I don't actually want to make things hard for you."

"But you insulted my parents. Anyone would be upset, right?"

She paused, then gasped with exaggerated surprise. "Oh, I forgot. Your parents dumped you when you were little. If it weren't for Noel, you'd have starved to death."

I said nothing.

Noel sat stone-faced. He didn't say a word either.

Florence set the glass on the coffee table with a smile. "Drink up."

I lowered my head. "I'm sorry."

Florence shook her head. "Words are cheap. That's not sincere enough. This is 120-proof. Drink it."

I stared at the green liquid fizzing in the glass, and instinctively looked toward Noel.

During the years I'd stood beside him while he built his empire, I'd destroyed my stomach lining at one business dinner after another.

Every time I drank, I ended up in the ICU.

After that, Noel never let me touch alcohol again.

But the man sitting in front of me now just blew out a lazy smoke ring, his expression as indifferent as if he were commenting on the weather.

"Brooklyn, it's one glass. Your tolerance isn't that bad."

I'd stopped expecting anything from him a long time ago. But my chest still clenched, tight and involuntary.