Matthew pulled his shirt back on and draped his tuxedo jacket carefully over my shoulders, which, of course, I loved.
And then, hand in hand, we fled the red room, through the dim corridors and down the gilt-encrusted staircase of the house, and tumbled into Matthew’s car.
He murmured something to the driver and we were off—swallowed into welcome obscurity by London’s ceaseless traffic.
I didn’t want to let go of Matthew, still not quite believing we were actually here, together, hoping for the same future, but I kind of had to.
Partly because my nose was itchy and I needed to scratch it, but also because I wasn’t sure if George had managed to assemble her orgy and escape yet.
I texted her to let her know that I was okay, going home with Matthew, and would she mind terribly takin
