Marise’s mouth quirked a little. “You’re more direct than I expected.”
Kathleen blinked again, not sure if that was a compliment. “I simply meant I didn’t want a twenty-five-year-old in a sequined dress trying to impress my donors.”
“Don’t worry,” Marise said. “I left the sequins at home.”
That pulled a smile, small but real.
Outside, a black sedan’s headlights sliced across the marble floor as it turned into the driveway.
Kathleen stood. “That’s us.”
Marise rose beside her. “Tonight,” she said softly. “You set the pace.”
Kathleen gave a slow nod, her eyes not quite meeting Marise’s. “Thank you.”
They walked toward the car together, side by side but not touching. As the driver opened door, Marise noticed Kathleen’s hands tightening again. Not with fear or dread, just bracing for impact.
So, she offered nothing but stillness. Quiet dignity. The kind of silence that held space, not judgment.
When they slid into the backseat and the door shut behind them, Marise saw the subtle unclenching of Kathleen’s shoulders.
Trust, beginning to form. Quietly.
The car pulled smoothly into the circular drive of the Institute, to the gala. Impressive columns rose on either side of the wide steps, their surfaces glowing under the warm floodlights. A pair of valets in dark uniforms opened the car door as soon as they drove up.
Marise stepped out first and turned to offer a hand to Kathleen. Not as a gesture of formality, but as something steady to tether her.
Kathleen took it without hesitation.
Marise noticed how Kathleen’s free hand tugged at the waist of her dress as they entered the lobby, like she was still unsure she’d made the right choice. She leaned over and whispered in Kathleen’s ear. “You look lovely.”
That earned her a shy smile.
Inside, the space widened into a tall atrium with polished floors and crystal lights. Staff moved silently through the crowdwith trays of champagne and chilled wine. The guests were already gathering in clusters near the long bar at the back of the room—men in dress suits, women in designer gowns.
Kathleen's shoulders tensed. She stood a little too upright, like someone preparing for an oral exam.
Marise stepped closer, not touching butpresent,and turned toward her with an easy, almost conspiratorial expression. “Let’s walk around the crowd,” she murmured. “No sudden social attacks.”
Kathleen gave a nod of agreement. They moved slowly around the edge, Marise always half a step ahead, fielding eye contact, deflecting greetings, offering quiet nods and measured smiles in place of awkward introductions. When an older man in a tuxedo approached with too much cheer, glass half-empty, Marise stepped gently between him and Kathleen, turning her body with subtle grace and catching his attention long enough for Kathleen to ease away.
When they reached the far side of the room, near a tall indoor plant and one of the less crowded drink tables, Marise slipped them into the small alcove created by the curve of the wall.
“Better?” she asked softly.
Kathleen took a glass of punch from a passing tray, sipped and nodded. “You’re very good at this.”
“I’ve had practice,” Marise said.
Kathleen watched the crowd. “I know half of them are wondering what you’re doing with me,” she said, not bitterly... plainly.
Marise tilted her head. “Let them. They’re probably wishing they were standing where I am.”
That earned her a surprised, pleased glance. Kathleen blinked once, looked down at her glass, then back up. “I don’t always know when people are flattering me or just trying to get something.”
“I’m not doing either.”
Kathleen looked at her again, longer this time. Her gaze was still careful, but the edges had relaxed.
