Dominic caught up with Rozie and Conrad as they passed into the ornate vestibule. Their host climbed three more steps and pushed his way through another set of doors, filled with gold and white stained glass. As she followed, Rozie’s eyes traced the dark wood panels of the vestibule to the ceiling ten more feet above their heads. Rich, nearly black oak encased the room.

  “You and Riley were the only ones who drove. We could have flown you in, Dom,” Conrad said with a chuckle. “We have a contract with a small company out of Houston. Could have tried out our new helipad.”

  “Well, I had to get my team set up for tomorrow—”

  “It’s my fault,” Rozie said. “My doctor warned me about travel in the last trimester. And the baby’s hearing is so sensitive now.”

  Conrad stopped, hand to his chin.

  “You know, I’ve never thought about when hearing develops… All the same, I’m glad you could come! You’re just in time for the main course.”

  Beyond the vestibule, the mansion opened up into a cavernous hall. Eight stone pillars as tall as trees lined the room, the caps carved to resemble a subtle Greek style. Each adjacent pair held up an arch that curved elegantly across the ceiling. Except for the stone pillars, the same brown-black wood covered everything.

  Beyond the last arch, Rozie saw another room larger than the first. Stairs climbed the back wall in a tall, extravagant curve to the second-floor. A platform jutted out from a landing halfway up the steps—directly across from the entry hall. The banister wrapped around the ledge, holding a carved family crest. As Rozie approached the final archway, it framed the platform. The effect impressed her, but it reminded Rozie so much of a priest’s pulpit that she giggled. What type of personality would build such a thing? The giggle turned into a yawn. Rozie covered her mouth.

  Conrad’s dress shoes clicked on the wooden floor as he strode on. A Persian rug had dampened the sound of his steps, but at the sound of heels on the wooden flooring, she glanced at his burgundy shoes. They rose to his ankles, almost tall enough to be considered boots, but not quite. She noticed the rest of his formal attire. Burke wore a tailored charcoal suit pinstriped with thin gray threads. It concealed his bulky shape—larger than the last time she had seen him. Rozie glanced at Dominic. He craned his neck, taking in the sights. His five o’clock shadow had stretched on to seven or eight, and the pale blue golf shirt he wore hadn’t even seen a game of miniture golf. She looked down at the long jersey dress she wore. Not something that belonged in his building. Or on this trip.

  A woman’s effusive laugh drew her attention ahead of them. Conrad rounded the corner into the stair hall. Between the last set of pillars, sat two benches facing each other. Above them, two mirrors—patchy, burnished antiques—filled the wall above the seats. Rozie stopped and sighed. Even in the foggy reflection, she saw her belly and the navy and leaf-green sheath that wrapped around her frame. It was no use tonight. I am pregnant and on vacation, she reminded herself. In the mirror, Rozie saw Dom and Conrad reflected in the mirror behind her. The infinity effect threw her off balance. When she looked again, she saw the dining room around the corner. Even in the distorted image, the opulence amazed her. She turned to catch up with her husband, but as she did, a huge black shape darted in the mirror’s reflection. Her skin prickled, and she spun to face the long hall where it disappeared. The hotel wing, she thought as her mind oriented itself within the massive building. Sconces with a warm yellow light illuminated the hall. Doors lined both sides. Rozie blinked. No shapes. No shadows. She rubbed her eyes as she walked. Tiredness, or floaters. Definitely too much time on computer screens.

  They passed through a wide entrance into the dining room, the source of the shrill laughter. As big as the table was, the room dwarfed it and the seated guests. Cherubs flew among clouds on the painted ceiling, surrounded by concentric frames of wooden moulding. Her eyes followed the polished brass chain down to the chandelier that hung above the table. The same warm, nearly red, wood lined every other surface.

  Dom strode on toward the table. Several of the men rose to greet her husband with handshakes and hugs. Conrad caught Rozie’s eye and waved a hand over two empty seats near the door.

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  Sara ‘Without an H’ Burke rose from her chair at the other end and slid across the wooden floor with the gentle swish of fabric. She placed a hand on Dominic and Rozie’s shoulders and offered them each a kiss with the touch of cheeks.

  “I’m so glad you made it!” Her hands slid down to take Rozie’s as she stepped back, making a show of admiring Rozie’s belly. “How far along are you? Boy or girl?”

  Had it been that long since they’d seen each other?

  Dr. Burke owned her own clinic outside of Dallas—family medicine. Her demeanor shifted every so slightly as she studied Rozie, analytical in a way the smile couldn’t hide. Rozie slid her hands from Sara’s—no point being rude—and caressed her belly.

  “Almost eight months. A boy,” Rozie said. And before Sara could ask the next most common question, “We’ve got a list of names, but we’re waiting until we meet him.”

  “That’s so sweet.” She glided backward, ushering the couple to the last vacant seats. “Have you met everyone?”

  Dom pulled out a chair for Rozie. Before she could sit, Tyler Miller’s wife half rose from her chair and reached a hand across the table.

  “Erica,” she said with a smile as they shook. A real handshake, firm and full. “Tyler talks enough about Dominic that I feel like we should know each other already.”

  Dominic helped her down into the chair. They performed the clumsy choreography of inching the pregnant woman’s heavy chair close enough to the table that she could eat with minimal mess. Just as she settled, a hand grabbed one of hers.

  “Rozemarijn, it’s so good to see you.” Ben Holder was one of the few people who knew her full name, let alone attempted—and succeeded—at pronouncing it. He squeezed her hand, looking down at her belly poignantly. “How’s the baby?”

  “Big!” she said with a sigh. “I think he knows his lease is almost up.”

  Benny squeezed her hand a second time, then resumed his conversation with Tyler. Dominic dropped into his seat next to Rozie.

  She surveyed the length of the table as Conrad spoke to one of the servers. These were the men who were important to her husband, and she dutifully matched names to faces as she scanned the room. She had met all of Dominic’s boarding school friends at some point. It was like one of those logic puzzles with the charts for children. Obviously, Alfonso and Sophia Fonseca were at the Fonseca wedding. The hotel chain he worked for had tapped him to manage its new boutique location—the first of several. Sophie worked her way up the entertainment side of a casino in Reno. They met at a Hostipality Management conference in Vegas.

  Conrad Burke attended Rozie and Dom’s wedding, but not the boys’ ten-year high school reunion last year. He floated around C-level in a couple of corporations the last few years, so of course it took a doctor to catch his attention. Tyler Miller was at the reunion but at neither wedding. He started developing apps, which turned into a company that specialized in it.

  Rozie met Jonathan at his and Willow’s—who could forget a name like that—wedding. Jon worked on the business side of an athletics and outdoor store, so of course he found himself a yoga instructor to settle down with. Riley Grant was a bit of a mystery, the quietest of the bunch—and with Benny that was saying something. But that worked in his favor. Dominic rarely talked about him, which excused him from Dom’s low-level comparison war. The only 20-something that Rozie had ever heard of who sent real Christmas cards. Brief, but handwritten. His genuineness stood out at their wedding when he congratulated them during the reception.

  Benjamin Holder was a regular. He stayed in Houston to look after his grandparents until they passed away within seven months of each other a couple years ago. They raised him when his mother died when he was a boy. He got into high end antiques because of his grandparents. This old mansion must have been a dream come true for him.

  But as her eyes landed from one man to the next, she couldn’t help but notice the women who clung to their arms and leaned in to listen to their conversations. They were stunning. Alfonso’s wife Sophie had shed the round cherubic fat from their wedding and wore a sleeveless gold gown with a shimmering nouveau pattern sewn into the fabric. It alluded to the slim figure within. Willow laughed again with the same a-little-too-forced sound Rozie heard earlier. A blue lace bodice, with the right amount of cleavage, climbed her shoulders and neck. Mrs. Tyler Miller wore a neat black dress, with her amber brown hair done up to perfection. Face fixed in a pleasant smile, Sara Burke waved across the table at Rozie. Rozie pictured herself through the woman’s eyes. Broad features—thanks to her northern European stock—the frumpy, shapeless dress—one of several on a heavy rotation and one the last articles of clothing that still fit her comfortably since little Mr. Lowry took up residence in her midsection. Rozie smiled while a groan escaped through her teeth. She looped her arm through Dom’s.

  Then she smelled dinner.