Mark
I had attended eleven of these galas since founding the institute, and I could usually get through an entire evening on autopilot, shaking the right hands, thanking the right donors, delivering the same practiced remarks about the hospital's mission that I could recite in my sleep.
I lost my ability to autopilot the moment Sophia walked in.
She was standing near the entrance in a deep green gown that caught the light every time she moved, hair pulled back in a way that left her neck bare, laughing at something Claire had said beside her, and I felt every carefully rehearsed sentence I'd prepared for tonight's opening remarks simply evaporate out of my head.
"You're staring," Peter said beside me, not bothering to hide his amusement.
"I'm not staring."
"You are very much staring.
