Wisdom was a bad date. Well, a bad fake date. Kitty had caught him flirting more than a few times, which was alright, seen a few winks and propositioning glances toward the coat closet, which was less than alright, and a piece of paper tucked in one girl's hand slipped into his pocket, which was not alright. Although since most of the conversations with the party-goers began with, “So, are you his daughter?” she figured it wasn't as if their cover would be blown if she didn't take him aside and have a few stern words for him.
Having spent the entire party watching her man mingle through the room and nothing yet happen to him, she felt the butterflies in her stomach settle down; she had even picked up one of the appetizers from a passing waiter with the intention of eating it, but after casting a critical eye down at it, she caught the uniformed man and asked him what she had picked up. Just as he answered her, there was a brief buzz in her ear and then a man's voice. She smiled at the waiter, pretending as if she could hear him and turned toward Pete, who was a few steps away and sipping from a champagne flute while he spoke into her ear.
“Wisdom,” she asked him after Jamie had finished speaking, and raised the hors d'oeuvre to him. She rather liked calling him by his last name; she seemed to be posing a question to the concept itself in a very Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret way. “What is this?”