Kenneth sat on the floor with his back against the bed, the hardwood cool beneath his palms. The pink tulle skirt of the high-necked minidress puffed softly around his thighs, its long mesh sleeves brushing his wrists when he moved. White tights smoothed his legs, and his baby-blue shoes-ridiculous, lovely things with thick heels-rested neatly side by side in front of him. Jewelry glimmered at his throat and ears, catching the light when he tilted his head. His makeup was modest, careful: a clean line of mascara, a whisper of blush, lips softened rather than announced.

He balanced his elbow on his knee, chin in his hand, and thought about how it had all come to this.

It had begun with Joselyn, with her easy laugh and her talent for persuasion. A double date, she’d said. Nothing complicated. Two gentlemen she knew, a night out, dinner and conversation. “All you have to do,” she’d insisted, eyes bright with mischief and sincerity all at once, “is listen and look pretty. It’ll be easy.”