Her eyes weren't smiling. April could control her mouth, her posture, the way she moved through the steps like she'd been taught by someone who understood waltzes were just arguments with rhythm.
But her eyes weren't cooperating.
They were doing math.
He played you this morning. This whole day has been absurd. What if you’re the laughingstock when this engagement isn’t real? What if it is, and you’re the only one who can’t tell the difference between a prank and a proposal?
The waltz continued.
Killian was waiting for something: a word, a sign, a flicker of forgiveness she didn't know how to manufacture on command.
April didn't have words.
Just the feeling of being seen by too many people in too many wrong ways.
April turned, saw movement.
Someone cutting through the floor with the confidence of a man who'd spent fifteen years being contractually obligated to get the girl in the third act.
Caleb
THE WOMAN WAS TALKING about her family’s vineyard. Sonoma. Something about soil composition.
He told a joke. She laughed at exactly the right place.
He let the conversation roll. Let her ask about filming schedules, whether small towns blurred together. He answered easily. Smiled easily.
This was uncomplicated.
Across the room, the music shifted. He almost ignored it. But then the lyric landed, and his brain snagged on supply closet before he could pretend it hadn’t.
That was this morning. Fluorescent lighting. A cupcake balanced on a filing cabinet. April laughing like she’d decided to make chaos a hobby.
He looked toward the dance floor. April was in emerald. Phones were lifting. And Jiro wasn’t singing to the crowd. He was singing to her.
The woman beside Caleb followed his gaze. “That’s… something.”
“Yeah,” Caleb said.
He pulled his phone out. Checked the ‘group chat’.
Arthur. Liam. Killian. Mateo. Jax.
Him.
He read the names, then glanced back at the stage.
Jiro was clearly part of whatever this was.
He looked back at the chat.
Jiro wasn’t.
Why am I in and he’s not?
He didn’t need to know. He wasn’t seeing her after tonight anyway. He locked his phone and slid it back into his pocket.
“So,” he said smoothly, turning back to the woman at his side, “where were we?”
