“Do I need an occasion? Besides, it’s barely anything at all.” I left her to head to the dining room where I’d stashed my gift on the china cabinet. I’d planned this earlier, and not wanting to be too sequestered with Celia, I’d made sure my present was near the party.

I gathered the items and thought briefly how I owed Mirabelle for the tip of gifting based on knowing someone. Celia hadn’t declared a major yet. She’d spent long hours debating with me about what she should choose. Her heart longed to pursue art, but her parents would never approve of such a frivolous career choice. While I’d listened and consoled, I hadn’t given much input. I appreciated art in all forms, yet I had not a lick of that kind of creativity, and how she could marry her passion with an occupation the Werners approved of was beyond me.

Then my mother hired an interior designer for our home back in Manhattan. By hand, he’d sketched out beautiful new concepts for our living room and den. The work he’d done was creative and artistic and completely something within Celia’s capability. I’d researched programs at Celia’s school and ordered some brochures. Then I purchased a coffee table book with photographs of contemporary designs from the last decade. These were the gifts I gave to Celia.

“It’s merely an option.” I sat and watched her look through the brochures over her shoulder. “You can take or leave the information however you like. I won’t be offended if you think it’s all shit.”

She shook her head. “No. It’s perfect. This idea is perfect.”

I shrugged. But I was quite pleased with the results of my gift.

“Thank you, Hudson.” Her eyes were wet and her face flushed, equally from the liquor as much as from my gesture. “I’m so moved. You can’t understand.”

“Really, it’s nothing.”

“Stop being humble. It’s a lot. Thank you.” She wiped a tear from her eye. Then she threw herself into my arms. “Thank you so much.”

I paused for a moment before embracing her back. I hadn’t expected her hug, but once I got over the initial shock, I was glad for it. Warmth spread in my chest, and I couldn’t figure out if my satisfaction was from the progress I’d made in my experiment or from sincere care for my friend’s happiness. Did I have that in me? To care whether or not good things happened to Celia?

It seemed that maybe I did.

So when she pulled back and found my mouth, I welcomed it. I kissed her genuinely, letting my lips move in tandem with hers. She tasted sweet and innocent and also in need, as if she’d yearned for this kiss for as long as I’d worked to get her there. Her urge was so strong it was contagious. I could have kept kissing her. I could have taken her to my room. I could have stripped her na**d and learned her body and made her writhe, forgetting all about my experiment, abandoning everything I’d ever believed about myself.

I could have. But how long would it last? Until we’d both come and were spent? Longer, perhaps—a week, a month? Until she realized that I was cold and calculating? Until she discovered that everything that she liked about me was a façade? That everything she thought I felt was a complete and utter lie?

No. I could never let anyone know who I really was. No one could want me if they knew who I was inside. It was better that I could never love in return because I’d never keep anyone anyway. So I had to end it—the kiss. In the name of all that I knew I could never be or have or give.

Also, I had an experiment to conclude.

I broke the kiss and pulled away from her. It was easier than it should have been. She tried to reach for me again and I halted her. “Celia.” My breath was ragged. “You have a boyfriend.”

“Can’t we pretend just for tonight that I don’t?” Her eyes were hopeful, wanting.

But my stoicism had returned and her pleading expression had no effect on me.

I stood, brushing my hand through my hair. “I told you I’m done pretending.” Done pretending with myself. I had to finally be honest. It wasn’t that I suspected I was incapable of love—I knew I was incapable. If I wasn’t, I would have been able to keep kissing Celia. And I couldn’t.

She rose and stepped toward me, but froze when the sound of loud voices came from the kitchen. My parents’ voices.

I hurried to them, Celia at my heels. At the archway to the kitchen, I stopped, peering around the corner to see what was going on. Along with my parents, I saw my siblings and their nanny, Erin.

“You don’t think I know?” my mother was shouting at my father. “You and your whores.”

I looked across the room out toward the party that thrived outside. All the windows were shut, thankfully. Likely no one could hear this going on inside.

“How many have there been, Jack?” my mother spit out. She was drunk. She was often drunk, but she generally was able to hide it. That she couldn’t hold it together when we had company irked me to no end.

It had a more devastating effect on my siblings.

“Mom.” Mirabelle pulled at the edge of Sophia’s dress. “Stop yelling. You’re making Chandler cry.”

“Erin.” My father motioned to the nanny. “Take Chandler up, will you? And Mira.”

Mirabelle protested. “I’m old enough to stay up. I don’t want to miss—”

“Go. I’ll be up when I can.” There was no disagreeing with my dad when he had that tone. Mirabelle followed Erin out the other kitchen door.

Then Dad turned to my mother, putting a hand on her upper arm. “Sophia, let’s talk about this later.”

She shrugged out of his grasp. “Just go now. Pretend to look after your children when you’re really after that piece of ass. Everyone here knows you’re f**king her.”

“No one here knows anything.” He corrected himself quickly. “Because there’s nothing to know. You’ve had too much to drink, that’s all. Planning this party has exhausted you. Lie down for a bit—”

My mother slapped him. Hard enough that it left a mark. “Don’t you f**king patronize me. I know, Jack. I’ve known forever. And I don’t want to hear your excuses anymore. You’re going to f**k who you want whether I’m around or not, but I don’t have to have it under my roof. Your skanks are no longer welcome in my house. You are no longer welcome in my house.”

“Sophia.” Despite his aching jaw, my father reached again for his wife.