Alexander’s POV

Black, velvety interior. But I stare at a picture of the two of us from four or five years ago; I’m not sure. In black suits, we’re both holding champagne flutes and staring into the camera, our arms draped over the other person’s shoulders. Lewis wears a happy grin. I’m not smiling, as usual.

It’s my first time seeing this picture. I recall the night. I remember the party at his family home, and the moment he dragged me away from where I’d been on the phone with ...