I blink, trying to come up with an answer to that, hoping that Julian will jump in this time for me.
“I’ll find you later,” he says, and then he’s gone, already moving through the room like he’s sliding between worlds he owns.
I exhale slowly through my nose, trying to unknot my lungs.
Theo leans forward, eyes bright. “Well, that was fun.”
I take another breath and slowly exhale, and ask without considering, "Does he... always do that?"
Elliot’s mouth twitches. “Graham does whatever Graham wants.”
Harper’s gaze lingers on me, just a beat. Not cruel. Not kind. Just… measuring. Then she looks away and says something to Elliot that makes him smile.
Julian’s hand leaves the back of my chair as if nothing happened.
And now I can’t stop noticing the absence of it.
Dinner continues.
There are speeches. Applause. Donation numbers are announced like bragging rights. Plates arrive in courses that are too pretty to be real food.
I eat because I should. Because my body needs fuel. Because I can’t afford to get lightheaded in front of these people.
But my mind keeps snagging on little things:
The way people look at Julian and then look at me like they’re trying to understand the equation.
The way servers move around him like he’s a fixed point in the room.
The way Theo keeps checking my face like he’s making sure I’m still okay.
The way it feels like Harper has been assessing me all night.
By the time dessert is cleared, the room loosens. Chairs scrape back. The band shifts into something smoother. The dance floor begins to fill in that slow, inevitable way.
Theo stands immediately, like he’s been waiting.
He holds out his hand.
“Dance.”
The word is a command dressed as a joke.
I blink. “Theo...”
“It's only a dance... and Julian is no fun, he never dances,” he says with mock solemnity, then lowers his voice just enough that it feels like it’s only for me. “Plus, I need to confirm something.”
I smile, "Confirm what?"
"That you will move across the dance floor like I dreamed you would." He says with a rakish grin.
I can't help but roll my eyes, but something stirs in me.Why isn't Julian asking me to dance? Why isn't he the one with the smooth lines, making sure I am included and okay?
I put my hand in his. Theo leads me to the dance floor with the ease of someone who has never questioned whetherhe belongs somewhere. He doesn’t dance like a man trying to impress. He dances like someone who thinks joy is a weapon.
“You’re good,” I say, partly to distract myself.
Theo grins. “I’m excellent. And Julian is going to hate me.”
