As if she senses the blueprint forming in my head, she glances over. Our eyes lock, and a small, private smile curves her lips. She winks once before turning back to the diplomat beside her.
Moments later, Kaori glides toward me. The crowd parts naturally for her, and when she reaches me, she shifts subtly, letting the silk sleeve of her kimono brush my arm. It sends a flurry of snowflakes through my stomach.
“You doing all right?” she asks softly.
“I’mwayoutside my comfort zone,” I answer, because honesty seems the only sensible option. “But I’m managing.”
She gives me a look that’s half-fond, half-teasing. “Well, you haven’t insulted a head of state or started rambling about something like the airflow patterns in the room, so I’d say you’re doing well.”
“I’ll take that glowing review, thank you,” I deadpan.
Her laugh, soft and bell-like, cuts clean through the noise of officials and cameras. For a moment, the room narrows to her and me and the comforting certainty that nomatter where we stand in the world, she’s the person who steadies me.
A steward approaches and bows. “Princess Sorahino, they’re ready to begin the dancing.”
Kaori inhales, spine straightening in that subtle, unmistakable way it does whenever she slips into princess mode. “Of course.”
“I know you hate dancing, but you’ll do well,” I say.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” On cue, the lights dim. A string quartet begins a slow, lilting waltz that sweeps through the ballroom and the guests part, making way for her. She turns toward me, eyes warm and bright. “Would you be my partner for the opening dance?”
“Me?” My whole body goes rigid before I can stop it. “Shouldn’t you be dancing with the president? Or the ambassador?” My eyes flick over to the cluster of Irish cabinet ministers and Japanese delegates already watching her every move. “Won’t they be insulted if you waltz with a nobody engineer from London?”
Her expression softens. “You aren’t a nobody. You’re my boyfriend, the man I love, and my guest of honor tonight.” She lifts her chin slightly. “And this reception is for me, which means just this once, I get to choose how things go.”
My heart thuds so hard, I’m half-convinced people across the room can hear it. “Right,” I breathe. “Well... I suppose that’s settled, then.” I’d be a fool to turn down a dance with the most beautiful woman in the room. Inside and out. And I’m no fool.
She extends her hand. I take it, praying my palms aren’t as clammy as they feel. I don’t want to ruin the delicate fabric of her kimono. I wager something like that has to be cleaned by hand.
We walk together toward the center of the ballroom. Conversations hush and the crowd subtly shifts inward to watch. I’m aware of every step, every breath, every pair of eyes tracking us, but none of it matters once Kaori turns to face me. Her hand finds my shoulder. Mine settles carefully at the small of her back. “Just follow me,” I whisper, hoping I sound more confident than I am.
The quartet swells, and somehow my feet remember what to do. She lied to me. She’s not a bad dancer. She moves like a ballerina with fluid precision, guiding us through the opening turns. Her kimono sleeves float with each step, trailing soft arcs of golden red that catch the chandelier light.
“You’re doing brilliantly,” I tell her.
“Only because I have a good partner,” she says.
“You can thank Nan. We used to waltz around the farmhouse after Sunday roast.” I glance toward my big feet, wincing as they come into contact with her hem. I hear a faint ripping noise. “Sorry,” I mutter. “I hope this isn’t an antique.”
“It is, but don’t worry about it. Kimonos are meant to be worn and enjoyed. I’m sure the seamstresses at the palace will have no trouble repairing the hem. This particular one was due to be cleaned anyway. And to do that, it gets disassembled. Each seam is undone and all the panels are washed by hand.”
“Really? That’s some serious engineering.”
“Uh-huh. It’s why kimonos aren’t cleaned too often. We wear a lot of clothing under it.”
“Impressive.”
We do a slow, steady spin. The rest of the ballroom fades out of focus. It’s just us. Kaori looks up at me with her warm eyes and causes my brain, which is usuallycluttered with calculating angles and figuring out tolerances and stress points, to go completely quiet.
For a heartbeat, I imagine that we’re in our own private garden tucked deep in a forest. I can picture the lanterns strung overhead like constellations, dew on the grass, and a soft breeze carrying jasmine. Just out of sight, a string quartet plays a soft rendition of “Born to Be Wild.” The song that was playing on our first unofficial date.
As I stand here with her in my arms, I remember exactly why I fell in love with her. It’s not the title, or the way she looks in a ballroom like this. It’s her compassion. Her stubbornness. And her curiosity. She sees the world like a puzzle she’s determined to understand. She approaches people with a gentleness that melts even a cold heart like mine. She’s so strong. Thoughtful. And the kind of person who’s good down to her core.
The final note trembles in the air. Kaori leans in, lips at my ear, her voice soft and certain as she says, “Thank you for being here with me.”
My chest tightens. I turn slightly, brushing my cheek against her hair. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
She draws back just far enough for me to see her twinkling eyes. There’s the distant sound of applause. A tap on my shoulder pulls me back to earth, and suddenly, we’re in the ballroom again. I turn and nearly swallow my tongue when I find the president of Ireland standing beside me.
