“Exactly! All they ever do is talk about the next party. The next excuse to all get together and get drunk, and plan another expensive event.” She let out a frustrated breath. “Don’t you ever talk about anything else?”

“I know those guys can be kind of silly and immature, but I’ve known them my whole life. I can’t just cut them out.”

Actually, you can, Rylin wanted to say, but she bit back the words. There was no use fighting over this. “Let’s just forget the whole thing.”

“I promise this will be the last after-party I host,” Cord assured her with a smile. “And tomorrow I’ll make it up to you. We can go that brunch place with the raspberry biscuits you love. Or somewhere else,” he said quickly, confused by her expression.

Rylin hadn’t realized that he was still planning on having the after-party. Or that once again he would try to smooth over a disagreement with money and things.

“I’m going to get that drink,” she said vaguely, starting back toward the bar, but he shook his head.

“No, let me. Please,” Cord insisted. “You stay here and listen to the violinist. You’ll really love her.”

A violinist had stepped onstage, momentarily replacing the band. She perched on a delicate wooden chair, looping her feet under the bottom rung. And then she started playing, and Rylin forgot that she was sort of irritated with Cord, forgot about anything at all except the music.

It began low and plaintive, full of a longing so sharp that Rylin felt it like a pain between her own ribs. Dimly, she was aware of Cord retreating toward the bar, but Rylin stayed where she was, transfixed by the haunting, tragic music. It put into words what words failed to do.

She remembered the night this past summer when she and Hiral had gone to an outdoor concert together in Central Park. It had been Hiral’s idea. Maybe you’ll get some inspiration for your holos, he’d suggested. Rylin had been touched by his thoughtfulness.

She wondered what Hiral was doing right this moment. He was just so very far away. She felt a sudden urge to check on him, make sure that he was all right.

Rylin muttered to her contacts to do a quick i-Net search for Undina. She immediately landed on its home page, filled with sweeping photos of the ocean, the massive man-made city floating peacefully above it like a lily pad. Hiral was fine, she assured herself. He would be happy there.

Then a familiar name caught her eye. Mr. Cord Hayes Anderton. The next row, Mr. Brice August Anderton.

They were both listed on Undina’s board of directors.

At first Rylin told herself that it was a mistake. This must be another Cord Hayes Anderton. Before she could help it, she’d tapped the link on Cord’s name, to read how he and his brother had inherited their seats from their parents, who were founding investors in Undina. They were nonvoting members until they turned twenty-one, but the board was delighted to include them, in recognition of all that their parents had done. . . .

Rylin swiped her tablet off and leaned forward, feeling sick. Was Cord really on the board of Undina, the place Hiral was now working? Was that just an ironic cosmic coincidence, or did Cord have something to do with Hiral’s departure?

She couldn’t help remembering how unsurprised Cord had seemed when she told him that Hiral had skipped town. Come to think of it, hadn’t Cord had been the one to come find her that evening in the edit bay? She’d never stopped to question why he was looking for her with such impeccable timing, but now she understood.

He had already known that she and Hiral were over.

When the violinist finally finished, and the room erupted in polite applause, Rylin felt as if she’d been torn from a dream.

Cord was walking toward her, a pair of drinks in hand. He saw Rylin and broke out into a wide, eager smile—until he registered her expression, and his handsome features creased in concern.

Rylin couldn’t take it anymore; she stumbled blindly toward the exit, knocking past a waiter with a tray of champagne, letting the flexiglass flutes clatter to the floor. She didn’t even care that the wine had sprayed up onto her skirt.

“Wait, Rylin!”

She whirled around. “Did you help Hiral leave town?” Her throat felt scratchy and dry.

Cord flinched beneath her gaze but didn’t back down. “I did,” he told her. “But please, Rylin, you don’t understand.”

Rylin felt numb with shock. The room seemed to spin around her, everything blurring together like a melting Surrealist painting.

“What part don’t I understand? The part where you helped Hiral get out of the way, or the part where you hit on me two days later?”

Cord flinched at that. “I’m sorry I didn’t wait longer, okay? I just missed you so much; I couldn’t help coming to see you. That’s why I said I wouldn’t be the one to kiss you that day,” he tried to add.

“Right. You showed such restraint.”

“Rylin, you and Hiral were over!”

They had moved toward the front of the party, in the echoing entrance to city hall. Rylin saw an interminable line of hovertaxis already curling around the block outside.

“Hiral wasn’t good for you, and you know it,” Cord told her, and it was the absolute wrong thing to say.

“How dare you?” Rylin hissed. Anger and hurt crackled beneath her skin. “You have no right to do that, to keep making decisions on my behalf, okay?”