No other students. Just Taryn.

This was a mistake. He knew it, of course, but he couldn’t back out now, not after he’d promised to drive her to the conference. Not after all the arrangements had been made.

He pulled up at the curb. She tossed her overnight bag into the back seat and slid in beside him.

“Isn’t anyone else coming?” he asked.

“Just me.”

“I thought you were going to talk a few classmates into joining us. I assumed Cody, at least, was coming.”

“I tried, but no one else was interested.” She flicked back her hair and smiled. “Oh well. Looks like it’s just you and me, Professor.”

A mile down the avenue at Copley Square, he turned onto the Mass Pike west, his stomach churning. Taryn and he, alone in a car, headed out of town like two lovers. As they entered the tunnel under the Prudential Center, he asked himself, What are we doing? What am I doing? As soon as they arrived at the hotel, he needed to call Maggie. If only to remind himself he was married. That he was doing this for only the right reasons.

Although she’d registered late, a few rooms had still been available at the conference hotel, which was a short walk from the campus where the sessions would take place. As they headed into the lobby and approached the reception desk, he felt his heart rate quicken. Did they look like lovers? Had anyone noticed they’d arrived in the same car? He glanced around the lobby, which looked like the lobbies of countless other corporate hotels, and was relieved to see no one he knew.

“Your key, sir,” the desk clerk said, handing Jack the envelope with a key card to room 445. “I can put you both on the same floor,” he offered.

Before Jack could respond, Taryn said: “That’d be nice.”

The clerk gave her the key to room 437. Four doors away from Jack’s room, but still far too close for comfort.

I’m her teacher. She’s my student, he reminded himself as they stepped off the elevator on the fourth floor. We’re here for the conference, nothing else.

“See you in a bit?” she said as they approached his door.

“Um, yeah.”

“Lobby in twenty minutes?”

“Okay.”

He let himself into the room, and as the door swung shut behind him, his breath whooshed out. Okay. Okay, this will be fine, he thought.

Time to call Maggie.

He sat on the bed and dialed her cell phone, needing to hear her voice. To be reminded of what they had together, all the history, all the love. But the call went to voice mail, and all he heard was, “This is Dr. Dorian. I’m unavailable to answer your call.”

He disconnected and sat slumped on the bed. He had skipped lunch, and his stomach felt hollowed out, not from hunger but from nervousness. He was standing on the edge of an abyss, trying to keep his balance and not tumble into the darkness.

Half an hour later, he and Taryn walked into the building where other attendees milled about, greeting colleagues and checking billboard posters and schedules. Maxine Vogel’s lecture, “The Invention of Men,” was about to start, and the auditorium was filling fast. They claimed two seats on the aisle, and Taryn opened her laptop to take notes.

“I’ll see if I can introduce you to her after the speech,” he said.

“What should I say?”

“Ask about her latest research and take it from there. Every scholar loves to talk shop, and flattery never hurts.”

“Okay. Okay. God, this is so exciting.” She looked around at the attendees waving hellos and shaking hands, a world of scholars that she longed to join someday. The auditorium lights dimmed, and her attention snapped forward to the screen, where the first slide was now displayed. It was a woodcut print of a woman in a flowing gown, bent over her loom.

Maxine Vogel walked to the podium, where she stood bathed in the spotlight. “I’m sure you all recognize the woman in this slide. Penelope,” said Dr. Vogel, sweeping an arm toward the screen. “For twenty long years, she remained ever faithful, ever patient, spurning all suitors as she waited for her husband, Odysseus, to return from the Trojan War. Scholars and poets point to her as the example of perfect womanhood.” Vogel turned to her audience and snorted. “What utter bullshit.”

And with that, she had the audience spellbound.

Jack glanced at Taryn and saw her lean forward, so rapt with attention that she’d forgotten to take notes. She was too focused on Vogel’s defense of unconventional heroines, the women whose unruly passions and inconvenient desires pitted them against the mores of society. No wonder Vogel was a star in her field; he felt a twinge of envy at how completely she captivated her audience. And he envied Taryn, too, for all the possibilities in her future. Possibilities that he could feel slipping away with each passing year.

When Vogel’s lecture ended and the lights came up again, Taryn was already on her feet and moving up the aisle toward Vogel. There was no need for Jack to introduce them; Taryn was a self-guided missile, aimed straight for her target. From across the auditorium, he saw her shake hands with Vogel, saw the older woman smile and nod as they walked together toward the room where the conference cocktail party awaited.

Mission accomplished, he thought. Taryn was doing fine on her own, and now was the time to make his escape.

He returned to his room alone, showered, and climbed into bed. He was annoyed that Maggie hadn’t called back, but then he saw the email she’d sent an hour ago:

Spending the night with Dad. He’s having a rough time with back pain. Hope conference is going well—call you in the morning.

Of course, she’d be at her father’s. They had no idea how much longer Charlie had left to live, and she wanted to spend every free moment she had with him.

He decided not to call her again tonight. He turned off the lamp and had just settled back on the pillow when his phone rang. Maggie?

But it was Taryn’s voice he heard. “Are you in your room?” she asked. “I need to tell you something!”

“Can it wait until breakfast? It’s eleven thirty.”

“But this is so exciting I can’t wait! I’ll be right up!”

With a sigh, he turned on the lamp and got dressed. He’d just buckled his belt when he heard her knock on the door. He opened it to find Taryn standing in the hallway, holding up a bottle of wine.

“Why the wine?” he asked.

“You’re not going to believe this. Maxine suggested we coauthor a paper together! Just her and me!”

Maxine. Not Dr. Vogel. “Seriously? How did that happen?”

“I told her I thought Queen Dido has been completely mischaracterized by male scholars. I said it’s because Dido challenged their ideals of masculinity. And she loved the premise.” Taryn gave a laugh of triumph. “Can you imagine it? My name would be right under hers on the paper!”

“That’s pretty astonishing,” he said, genuinely impressed. “And I hope you realize how generous she is to be doing it. Most scholars with her stature would never even consider—”

“Let’s celebrate! I had the bartender uncork this for us.” She hunted down two glass tumblers in the room, filled them with wine, and handed one to Jack.

How could he refuse? She was practically dancing with joy, and he couldn’t help smiling at her triumph. They clinked glasses and sipped. “Congratulations, Taryn,” he said. “You’re well on your way!”

She took another gulp of wine. “And it’s all because of you.”

“I wasn’t the one who charmed Maxine Vogel.”

“We talked for hours at the cocktail party, brainstorming our paper. We could’ve kept going, but the bar was closing. Luckily I took a ton of notes.”

“Good thinking,” he said, his head buzzing from the wine. He’d scarcely eaten dinner, and now he was paying for it as the alcohol roared straight into his bloodstream.

She drained her glass, poured another, and topped off his. “We’ll have to collaborate by email. You know, I send her pages, and she sends me comments and suggestions. Then we coedit the final version, and she’ll submit it. She knows the editors of all the major journals. And to think none of this would have happened without you, Jack.” Her eyes were huge, dark pools. “I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t encouraged me.”

He suddenly registered the fact that she’d called him Jack, not Professor Dorian. When had that started? When had they slipped into such easy familiarity? He knew he shouldn’t have more to drink, but he gulped down the wine anyway and set down the empty glass.

She moved toward him so swiftly he didn’t have time to react. He felt her breath against his hair as she whispered: “Thank you.”

He stood paralyzed as she kissed him. This was not a thank-you peck. This was a full-lip kiss that lasted longer than any thank-you. Her tongue slipped into his mouth, and he felt his stomach drop away, felt his body respond.

This can’t be happening.

“I want you,” she whispered, and she slipped her hand into his trousers. Found him already, involuntarily, erect.

He groaned and tried to pull away.

“Jack, please,” she begged. “Just for tonight. Just you and me.”