"I don't plan counter-arguments."
"You're doing it right now."
"Maybe a little."
He turned her to face him fully. "I have attended dozens of these balls. I have danced with countless eligible ladies. I have been pursued by women with perfect pedigrees, perfect manners, perfect everything. And I was miserable. Empty. Going through motions without feeling anything."
"But..."
"Then you crashed into me with pies, and suddenly I was feeling everything. Annoyance, amusement, frustration, joy, love. You woke me up, Marianne. You made me real. If those society people can't see how extraordinary you are, then they're the ones who should be embarrassed, not you."
"You really believe that."
"I know that."
***
That evening, they had a dancing lesson in the ballroom. Alaric taught her the basic steps of a waltz, a quadrille, a country dance.
"You're naturally graceful," he said as they moved through the waltz.
"I'm naturally terrified of stepping on your feet."
"You haven't yet."
"The night is young."
"The night is perfect."
They were pressed close, closer than proper form dictated, but there was no one to see. Marianne could feel his heartbeat, quick despite his calm exterior.
"You're nervous too," she realized.
"I haven't danced in two years at a ball. And never with someone who mattered."
"I matter?"
"You're everything."
They stopped dancing but didn't step apart, standing in the middle of the empty ballroom, holding each other.
"What if..." Marianne began.
"No more what-ifs. Whatever happens tomorrow, we face it together."
"Together," she agreed.
The next morning was chaos. Madame Laurent arrived with the completed gown, a creation in deep sapphire silk that somehow managed to be both elegant and unique. The bodice was embroidered with tiny silver stars that caught the light, the skirt full but not excessive.
"It's beautiful," Marianne breathed.
"It's you," Madame Laurent corrected. "Or rather, it's you translated into silk and attitude. Try it on."
The dress fit perfectly, transforming Marianne from baker to something else entirely—not quite a duchess, but definitely not ordinary.
"I don't look like myself," Marianne said, staring at her reflection.
"You look exactly like yourself," Alaric said from the doorway. "Just in fancier packaging."
