The party went until nearly dawn. Dancing happened. Musicians picked up guitars and instruments appeared. Mountains of food—British classic, Filipino desserts, New York pizza—disappeared. Jam sessions that’d go down in legend—Kris Starr, Bren Alvarez, Reggie Rocket, Dan Ashley of Mirage, Adam Johnson—ebbed and flowed.
Justin temporarily ran off to change, with help from Anna and James. He came back into the open candlelit barn space looking otherworldly: in white, in a dress that sparkled and shimmered and had a high-low hemline, showing off long legs and lace-up boots; the dress had a corset, and it was sewn with tiny gemstones in flares of blue and ruby and purple and opal amid all the white, and his tattoo twinkled in stars along his collarbone, exposed.
A few gasps landed. So did qui
