Page 54 of The Plus-One List

“I’m taking on a higher role next year,” Diego says. “So I told Dad I wanted to invite the employees in my department. Make a good impression. Some people are coming in from the Buenos Aires offices, some from Miami, and some are coming from Beijing.”

“I told him, how weird is it that people who work for you are coming to your wedding,” Rachel says.

Diego chuckles. “And I told her, this is how it works. Business always intersects with pleasure. Dad liked the idea because he thinks of it as some kind of show of force. I’d rather see it as a way for the people who work with me to feel included. To have a personal connection to the company.”

It’s a smart move. But it doesn’t sound like Diego knows Ricardo at all—it’s just a coincidence that Ricardo happens to work in Diego’s department, under Diego’s management. If I were to pry about a certain employee, Diego would surely ask why, and that would get passed on to Rachel, who would tell Eloise. And even though Eloise made it clear that this situation is transactional, I don’t want her hearing secondhand that I’ve got another reason for going to the wedding.

I have to tell her myself. I don’t know why I haven’t yet. It’s just never seemed the right time to blurt out that I need to interview the uncle I never knew I had, from my grandfather’s secret second family, who also happens to be a decade younger than me. Feels like some Game of Thrones shit right there.

We chat a bit more about wedding plans while Eloise sits beside me, quietly vibrating with tension and sipping her drink. But the party begins to fill up and soon, Diego and Rachel are pulled away to greet new guests.

I stand and offer my hand to Eloise. She takes it, looking excited.

“Can we leave now?” she asks.

“Not yet,” I say. “We need to work on mingling.”

She makes a horrified face, like I’ve just told her we’re going to practice witchcraft. “No,” she says.

“Yes,” I say firmly. “I’ll be with you the whole time. This will help you get accustomed to being around people. Look! You’re doing such a good job already.”

I gesture out to the milling crowds surrounding us. I see her jaw working furiously, and she swallows hard. I squeeze her hand to remind her that I’m not going anywhere, and she squeezes back. We walk forward together, cutting a little path through the guests. The sun is sinking toward the horizon, setting the city ablaze in a wash of scarlet and gold. Once we reach the far end of the party, we turn and walk back the way we came.

“This is mingling?” Eloise asks.

“This is mingling.”

“So, we aren’t talking to anyone?”

“Do you want to talk to someone?”

“No,” she says quickly.

“Rachel said she and Diego are going to make a speech,” I tell her. “We can go after that.”

We make a few more circuits around the party. She’s doing great. And I let her squeeze my hand as hard as she needs to. At one point, I can tell her flight reaction is kicking in because she’s checking the camera on her phone to see how the dogs are doing. A glance tells me they’re absolutely fine. Pip is exploring, coming in and out of frame, Charleston is licking the carpet, Hazel is bossing the Colonel around. A typical Friday evening. But I know she’s going to pretend there’s some disaster, and I want her to stay for the speech. I think it will be such good practice for her. And I feel like it will mean a lot to Rachel.

I catch sight of a darkened space, behind the elevators, at the back of the rooftop.

“Hey,” I say, tugging her hand before she gets a chance to invent some urgent dog-related reason to go home. “Follow me.”

We walk around the corner to where a huge fan is blowing air into the building, and pipes and hulking metal compartments form a sort of jungle gym of shapes and sounds. We can barely hear the party back here. The view stretches out over Tribeca and up toward midtown. Rich, warm light illuminates the buildings, winking off windows, and dousing the city in gold.

“Here,” I say, leading her to a sturdy, jutting piece of concrete that connects to the bank of elevators. “Sit. I’ll be right back.”

“You’re leaving me?” she squeaks.

“Just for a minute,” I promise.

I hurry to the buffet table and quickly pile a plate high with cheese and charcuterie and fruit, grabbing a couple of macarons for good measure. I stop at the bar and ask the bartender if I can get a bottle of champagne, to which he shrugs and says, “Sure, man,” reaching into a cooler and handing one over.

When I get back to Eloise, she’s standing by the ledge of the roof, her eyes focused on the traffic below.

“Cheese!” I declare, and she shrieks and whirls around. “Sorry, sorry!” I cry.

She gives a breathy laugh but then her eyes light up at the sight of the food in my hands. I had a feeling her blood sugar might be a little low.

I sit on the concrete slab, and she comes over to sit beside me. “Thought we could both use some food,” I say.