FLYNN'S POV
Harrison showed up at my house at six with a garment bag and no patience.
"I'm not going," I said.
He walked past me into the hallway and hung the garment bag on the coat hook with all confidence. "You've been in this house for three weekends. You're coming."
"I don't want to stand in a room full of people and pretend like everything's fine ."
"You've been pretending your whole career, what's another night? It's just two hours of expensive wine. Then I'll drive you home myself." He looked at me.
“No!”
"Flynn. Get dressed."
“Ughhh”
I got dressed.
The Portland Art Museum gala was exactly what it always was. Soft lighting across the permanent collection, donor crowd in black tie, caterers moving through with practiced invisibility. I knew half the room professionally.
