With all that in mind, I agreed to come to the charity event, even though I hate these things. I hate the glad-handing and the phoniness. It disturbs me to see how good Aida’s gotten at it. It used to be that you couldn’t take her anywhere without her stealing something or offending somebody—usually multiple somebodies. Now she’s all dolled up in a gown and heels, remembering everybody’s name, charming the pants off the hoity-toity society types.

Callum is the same, but even more so. He’s the Alderman of the 43rd ward, which is the most wealthy and influential district, incorporating Lincoln Park, Old Town, and the Gold Coast. I can see that he’s known to almost everyone in the room. There’s hardly a person here not eager to bend his ear on some personal objective.

Meanwhile, I’m bored out of my skin. I steal a couple of canapés off passing waiters’ trays, then I take a look at the long list of silent auction items on offer, including a football signed by the entire Bear’s offensive line.

There’s some pretty cool shit to be sold. But honestly . . . I can’t seem to rouse up interest in any of it. I just don’t care. The last two years have been a dark and blank expanse of time, punctuated by only a few jolts of excitement. I haven’t felt truly interested in something for a long fucking time . . .

Other than last week.

Yelena interested me.

There was an energy between us that actually made me feel something, ever so briefly.

After all this time, when I finally see something worth chasing . . . I’m supposed to ignore her. I’m supposed to let her go. Because of my family.

My goddamned family.

Somehow they always manage to take away the only things I care about.

I look over at Aida, who’s talking to some short, balding man with a hideous purple bow tie. He’s laughing at something she said, his head thrown back and all his crooked, crowded teeth on display. Aida has that look I know so well, that sly grin that shows she’s thinking of something even more outrageous, and trying to keep herself from saying it out loud. That’s a battle she used to lose every time, but she’s finally learned a little self-restraint.

My sister is lovely. Dark, curly hair, bright gray eyes that look like a coin flashing in cloudy water, a perpetual expression of mischievousness that makes you equal parts curious and anxious whenever you look at her.

How can you love someone so much, and also resent them?

That’s how I feel about all my family these days.

I fucking love them, down to my bones.

But I don’t like where I am because of them.

I know it’s partly my fault. I’m drifting without purpose. But whenever they pull me in some new direction, I never like where I end up.

Like this fucking auction.

I sigh, and head back to our assigned table, over at the edge of the stage. I don’t know what sort of performance they have planned for tonight. Probably something tedious like a classical quartet, or worse, a cover band. If it sucks, I’m leaving. Actually, I’ll probably leave either way.

As I’m sitting, a blonde waitress comes by with a tray of champagne.

“Drink?” she offers.

“You have any real liquor?” I ask her.

“No, sorry,” she says with a pretty little pout. “We only have prosecco and champagne.”

“I’ll take two prosecco.”

She passes me the flutes, saying with a pretend air of casualness, “Is one of those for your date?”

“No,” I say shortly. I plan to slug them both down to take the edge off my boredom.

“Bachelor?” the waitress says. “You’ll probably need one of these, then.” She passes me a cream-colored paddle with a number on it.

“What’s this for?”

“The date auction, of course!”

Jesus Christ. I can hardly keep my eyes from rolling out of my skull. “I don’t think I’m going to need that.”

“Why?” she says, with a coy little smile. “See something else you like?”

Under other circumstances, I might take her up on the hints she’s laying down so thickly. Unfortunately, the fact that she’s tall and fair-haired just reminds me of Yelena, who shares the same features but with ten times the intensity. This girl is like a daisy in a field, while Yelena is a ghost orchid: exotic, rare, and impossible to reach.

“No,” I tell her. “There’s nothing here for me.”

The girl leaves, and Aida and Callum immediately take her place.

“This is a date auction?” I say to Aida.

“Yeah!” she says. “It’s your birthday present. I’m gonna buy you a wife.”

“I thought the best wives were free,” I say. “And forced on you against your will.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Callum says, swinging his arm around Aida’s shoulders.

Aida and Callum had what could essentially be termed an arranged marriage, but it seems to have worked out for them surprisingly well. We were all just hoping they’d make it through the first year without murdering each other.

“You used to be such a romantic, Seb,” Aida says.

“Oh yeah? When was that?”

“Remember when you had that picture of Margot Robbie in your locker at school?”

I flush, wondering how in the fuck Aida even knows that. And how does she always manage to bring up the one thing you tried to scrub out of your own memory?

“I don’t think that was me,” I mumble.

“You don’t remember watching Wolf of Wall Street like eight hundred times and fast-forwarding to that one part where she’s standing naked in the doorway so you could jer—”

“If you finish that sentence, I will strangle you,” I hiss at Aida.

“Cal, you wouldn’t let him strangle me, would you?” Aida says to her husband.

“Not to death,” he replies.

“Thank you, love,” she says, kissing him on the cheek. “I knew I could count on you.”

Before Aida can resume her friendly harassment, an overly-tanned MC comes marching out on the stage to start the evening’s cattle auction. I have zero interest in the proceedings, especially once he starts listing off the women’s accomplishments like they’re Midwest geishas.

It doesn’t help that half the men in the room are hooting and hollering or leaning forward on the tables to leer at the girls. The whole thing feels icky. I’m embarrassed to be here.

The idea of paying for a date is ridiculous, especially at these astronomical prices. Five grand to take out some high-society hussy? No thank you. And that’s before you include the price of whatever fancy dinner you have to feed her.

I’m bored out of my mind.

“How many of these do we have to sit through?” I whisper to Aida.

“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “How many pretty girls can there be in this city? We can leave right after.”

I’d leave now, but Aida, Cal, and I all drove together, and the lights have been dimmed to the point that I probably couldn’t weave my way through the tables without tripping and landing in somebody’s lap.

Besides, it is mildly amusing to see these horn-dog men practically coming to blows over some of the girls. There’s a couple of brothers bidding for the same chick. When the older one wins, the younger brother looks ready to pluck up a rock and reenact the fourth chapter of Genesis right here and now.