"That's a loaded question," Jamie says glacially.

"Do you know how many people died at the Ritz yesterday?" I ask.

"I didn't keep track," she says, and then, "Don't be so corny."

"That was Bertrand," Bobby says to no one in particular. "I've gotta split."

"You look freaked," Jamie says slowly. "What happened?"

"I'll tell you later, back at the house," he says, taking her champagne glass, drinking half

"Why are you leaving, Bobby?" Jamie asks carefully. "Where are you going?"

"I guess my social life is much busier than yours," Bobby says, brushing her off.

"You brute." She grins. "You savage."

"Just stay for the dinner," Bobby says, checking his watch. "Then come back to the house. I'll be there by eleven."

Bobby kisses Jamie hard on the mouth and tries to act casual but something's wrong and he can barely control his panic. I try not to stare. He notices.

"Stop gawking," he says irritably. "I'll be back at the house by eleven. Maybe sooner."

On his way out Bobby stops behind Tammy who's swaying from side to side, listening rapturously to a drug dealer called the Kaiser, and Bobby motions from across the room to Jamie, mouthing, Watch her. Jamie nods.

"Is Bobby gone?" Jainie's asking.

"You're in fine form tonight," I spit out, glaring. "Do you know how many people died at the Ritz yesterday?"

"Victor, please," she says genuinely while trying to smile, in case anyone's watching. But the French film crew is surrounding a cluster of mourners laughing in the corner of the cavernous living room. Blenders are whirring at a bar, there's a fire raging in the fireplace, cell phones keep being answered.

"They killed the French premier's son yesterday too," I say calmly, for emphasis. "They cut off his leg. I watched him die. How can you wear that dress?" I ask, my face twisted with loathing.

"Is Bobby gone?" she asks again. "Just tell me if he's left yet."

"Yes," I say disgustedly. "He left."

Visibly, she relaxes. "I have to tell you something, Victor," she says, gazing over my shoulder, then glancing sideways.

"What?" I ask. "You're all grown up now?"

"No, not that," she says patiently. "You and I-we can't see each other anymore."

"Oh really?" I'm glancing around the room. "Why not?"

"It's too dangerous."

"Is it?" I ask, Smirking. "What a cliche."

"I'm serious."

"I don't want to talk to you anymore."

"I think this whole thing has gotten out of hand," Jamie says.

I start giggling uncontrollably until a sudden spasm of fear causes my eyes to water, my face to contort. "That's... all?" I cough, wiping my eyes, sniffling. "Just... out of hand?" My voice sounds high and my eyes, girlish.

"Victor-"

"You are not playing by the rules," I say, my chest tightening. "You are not following the script."

"There are no rules, Victor," she says. "What rules? That's all nonsense."

She pauses. "It's too dangerous," she says again.

"I'm feeling a lack of progress," I'm saying. "I think we're all living in a box."

"I assume you understand more about Bobby now," she says. "It's easier, isn't it? It's easier to gauge the fear factor now, isn't it?"

A long pause. "I suppose," I say, without looking at her.

"But you'll still be in my... periphery."

"I suppose," I say again. "How reassuring."

"You also need to stay away from Bertrand Ripleis."

"Why?" I'm barely listening.

"He hates you."

"I wondered why he was always snarling at me."

"I'm serious," she says, almost pleadingly. "He still holds a grudge," she says, trying to smile as she waves to someone. "From Camden."

"About what?" I ask, irritation and fear laced together.

"He was in love with Lauren Hynde," she says. "He thinks you treated her shittily." A pause. "This is on the record." Another pause. "Be careful."

"Is this a joke or like some kind of French thing?"

"Just stay away from him," she warns. "Don't provoke."