The orchestra began another waltz, but it no longer touched the air around Serena.
Christopher's hand was still at her back, the warmth of it sharp against her spine, steering her with that same ease he used to steer a room.
"Smile," he murmured. "They're still watching."
She obeyed — that perfect practiced smile, weightless, untouchable.
But her pulse betrayed her, fluttering beneath her ribs.
When they passed through the last archway into the antechamber, the noise of the ballroom fell away like a curtain torn loose.
Here the air was quieter, colder — too quiet.
Christopher stopped walking.
For a moment he said nothing. He simply looked at her. The silence stretched so thin she could almost hear her own heartbeat in it.
Then, softly, like the click of a lock:
"You looked at him."
Serena froze. "You're mistaken."
"Am I?" He took a step closer. "Because the entire room saw it. But I suppose they'll think nothing of it — unless you make them."
