Everyone was looking at them. Hazel resisted the urge to tighten her grip on Greyson’s sleeve.
“Do you regret coming?” he asked quietly, his voice pitched low enough that only she could hear.
“No,” she replied at once. “Only… feeling.”
She didn’t regret her feelings. Yet, she couldn’t help but think whether all of this was just a dream that she would be rudely awakened from, and then, she would realize that she was alone and heartbroken.
She banished the thought.
“Feeling what?” she heard him ask.
“Observed,” she said, with a faint huff of amusement. “As though I have become a curiosity rather than a person.”
His arm stiffened slightly beneath her hand. “If anyone forgets you are a person, I shall remind them.”
She glanced up at him then, startled, and found his gaze fixed forward, calm and formidable. It steadied her more than she cared to admit. They moved further into the room. Her parents stood near the edge of the dance floor. Her mother was radiant in satin, and her father was dignified and reserved. Her sisters clustered nearby, with Chastity whispering excitedly, and Patience watching the room with keen interest.
Hazel felt a familiar tug in her chest.
For years, this moment would have belonged to them. She would have adjusted gloves, smoothed nerves, and whispered warnings and encouragements. She would have faded into the background, content to manage and mend.
Now, she did none of those things. She remained where she was, at Greyson’s side, aware of the space she occupied and unashamed of it.
Her mother’s gaze found her, assessing as ever. There was pride there, but also expectation. Hazel met it evenly and did not bend beneath its weight.
Greyson inclined his head politely as they approached, exchanging the requisite civilities. Hazel responded in kind, her smile practiced yet sincere. Her sisters stared openly now, their expressions a mixture of awe and something approaching disbelief.
At that moment, a new dance was forming.
Greyson was already turned to her when he asked. “May I have this dance?”
Her heart gave an unexpected leap. “You may.”
As they stepped toward the floor together, Hazel felt the weight of the room upon them. She felt all that expectation, judgment and intrigue. Yet beneath it all, there was a curious calm, because she was not alone and she was not invisible. And theonly pair of eyes important enough to matter were aimed right at her.
Hazel had danced hundreds of times before. She knew the steps, the turns, the measured distance required between partners. Her body moved as it always had, yet the moment Greyson’s hand settled at her waist, and her fingers rested against his shoulder, something in that familiar pattern changed. He guided her with quiet confidence, not dominating the movement but attuned to it, as though he listened as much as he led.
“You look lovely,” he said as they turned.
She smiled politely, ready to deflect the compliment as she had been trained to do since girlhood. But he was not finished.
“That shade suits you,” he continued. “Not because it is fashionable, but because it is honest. It brings out the warmth in your eyes and the freckles along your cheek.” His thumb pressed lightly at her waist. “They make you look like someone who belongs to sunlight.”
The words caught her entirely unprepared.
Her composure wavered, while color rushed to her face. “You are exceedingly specific for a man who always claims indifference,” she told him, though her voice betrayed her.
His mouth curved. “I never claimed blindness.”
She swallowed, then rallied. “Well,” she said, lifting her chin just slightly, “you do not look… objectionable yourself.”
“High praise,” he replied solemnly.
“Truly,” she went on, emboldened now, “it is quite unfair of you to look so composed when everyone knows you dislike these events.”
He grinned then in an unguarded, startling expression that transformed his face entirely. Hazel’s breath caught, and her knees threatened treason.
“You enjoy provoking me,” he observed.
