The ballroom smelled like orchids, champagne, and old money trying to pretend it wasn't terrified.
Crystal chandeliers dripped light over five hundred people in black tie, every gaze sliding to us the moment we stepped through the gilded doors. Theo's hand was a steel band at my lower back, thumb stroking the bare skin above the emerald silk gown that hugged my four-month swell. The fabric clung to every new curve (breasts fuller, hips softer, the unmistakable arc of his baby pushing against the satin).
Cameras flashed like lightning.
"Mrs. Valadier," a reporter breathed, shoving a microphone forward. "How does it feel to go from one-night stand to royal bride in three months?"
Theo's entire body went rigid.
I smiled, sharp and sweet. "It feels like the best decision I ever made."
The lie tasted like champagne and victory.
Inside, I was shaking.
