Years and years had passed since that Cambridge fling of yours, Dominic. Having spent three years and nine full terms studying in the library - that’s code for making out or sharing a tryst. Today marked the fourth year you’ve been no contact with him. You’d both foolishly attempted to make something work outside of school, but it fizzled up and died out almost immediately.

Neither of you were stupid.

It didn’t stop the sharp flash of jealousy shooting through you when his arm is wrapped around some famous supermodel, or actress for events and galas - you get invited to them all, and whenever you’re there you avoid him like the goddamn plague. He isn’t the man you messed around with all those years ago.

So at another one of these events, every member donning their finest attires for yet another black tie, I believe this one was a Christmas Ball - lush reds, rich greens, and opulent silvers and whites. You speak politely to another couple, whilst sipping wincingly-expensive champagne.

“I do have a date, James.” You hear a rich laugh with that posh english lilt. A clink of champagne. You freeze. He was supposed to have denied the RSVP and not been in attendance. You look around for an out, and exit - because God he’s right behind you. You excuse yourself quietly, and before you can make it far someone’s arm slips through yours.

“You may very well hate me, but play along. Please.” Dominic’s lips brush your ear.