I tried to smile, but my lips felt stiff and dry.

I looked at the security guards posted near the stone pillars.

They all wore earpieces and kept their hands near their lapels.

The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume, hot wax from the candles, and damp wool from the guests’ coats.

Damiano stopped to speak with a city councilman near a silver sculpture of a bird.

“Excuse me for a moment,” Damiano whispered to me, nodding toward the politician.

“Stay close to the catering tables.”

I stepped back, wanting to give them space to speak in private.

The crowd shifted, a wave of silk and laughter separating me from Damiano’s tall figure.

I walked toward a quieter corridor lined with black-and-white photographs of the city’s old harbor.

The air was cooler here, away from the heating vents and the crowded main hall.

I stopped in front of a photograph of a tugboat in the fog, trying to calm my racing heart.

A hand gripped my upper arm, hard enough to pinch the skin through the thin silk of my dress.