The banquet hall was exactly the kind of room Zara had spent her whole life feeling like an outsider in chandeliers, a string quartet, name cards at every table, a step-and-repeat banner near the entrance where photographers waited with the patient, predatory stillness of people whose entire job was capturing exactly the kind of moment that was about to happen.
“Okay,” Noah said quietly, as they approached. “This part’s the performance. Hand on my arm, smile at the cameras, don’t look directly into any of the flashes or you’ll look startled in every photo. I’ve done this a hundred times. Just follow my lead.”
“That’s very reassuring.”
“I’m trying to be reassuring.”
“You’re being instructional.”
“Same thing, different” The first flash went off, and whatever he’d been about to say disso
