The music had settled into something low and unhurried—the particular register of a party that had moved past its formal opening and into the part of the evening where people stopped performing arrival and started simply being present. Conversations had deepened. The champagne was moving more freely. Director Sterling had dispersed into the room the way good hosts did, appearing at several places at once without appearing to rush between them.
Aurora was in conversation with a woman she had been trying to schedule a meeting with for three months—the kind of conversation that happened at parties like this because parties like this were partly designed for exactly that, the particular productivity of two people who were ostensibly relaxing. She gave the conversation her full attention. It deserved it.
Across the room, Ray was watching Rebecca Coleman.
