The crowd presses closer.
"As many of you have heard, Sophia and I were married yesterday in a private ceremony." I pull her closer, my arm sliding around her waist. "We wanted family present for that sacred moment, but tonight, we celebrate with all of you."
Murmurs ripple through the crowd. Someone starts clapping and others follow suit. The applause sounds hollow, performative.
"The union of Sartori and Torrino," I continue, letting my gaze sweep the room, making eye contact with those who need reminding of what this means. "A new chapter for both families."
"To the bride and groom!" someone shouts, raising a glass.
The toast echoes through the ballroom, champagne glasses lifting in what looks like celebration but feels like calculation. Every smile hides an agenda.
I turn to Sophia, cupping her face with one hand. "My wife," I say, loud enough for those nearest to hear the possession in my voice.
Then I kiss her.
When we break apart, her cheeks are flushed, lips swollen. She rises on her toes, wrapping her arms around my neck in what looks like an embrace of joy.
"I want to get out of here," she whispers against my ear, her voice barely audible.
I hold her tighter, feeling the tension in her body. She's been performing all night, playing the happy bride while navigating threats and calculating stares. The room watches us like vultures, waiting for any crack in our facade, any mistake they can exploit.
Music begins flowing through the ballroom. Couples start moving toward the dance floor, but most eyes remain on us.
Sophia stays pressed against me, her breath warm on my neck. "They're waiting for us to dance."
"I don't dance."
She pulls back enough to look at my face, and despite everything she laughs.
"You don't dance?" Her eyes spark.
"Never learned. Never needed to."
"Well, husband." She emphasizes the word, her smile turning mischievous. "Challenge accepted."
Sophia extends her hand toward me, waiting. The gesture is simple but it might as well be a loaded gun for how it makes my chest tighten.
"Come on," she says, her voice carrying that particular note of challenge that always undoes me.
I wouldn't dance for anyone else. Not Pietro with a gun to my head. Not for a billion-dollar deal. Not to save my own life.
But Sophia could ask me to run through fire dancing reggaeton and I'd do it without a second thought.
I take her hand.
The crowd parts as we move toward the dance floor. Some pull out phones, ready to document this rare moment.
Sophia positions my hand on her waist, places hers on my shoulder. "Just follow my lead," she whispers, pressing closer.
Sophia starts moving, and somehow my feet follow. She guides me through basic steps, her body telling mine where to go.
"See? You're a natural," she says, tilting her head back to look at me.
"Liar."
She laughs and the sound cuts through all the noise in the room. Her whole face transforms with it, eyes crinkling at thecorners, that fake society smile replaced with this genuine and unguarded one.
"Spin me," she says.
