“I’ll be fine,” I assure him.
Damian nods stiffly, and looks out of the window, not saying anything else for the remainder of the ride to the reception.
The car is silent until we get to the banquet hall. It’s decorated similarly to the cathedral. Except that there are guards on every corner of the building, inside and out—they had been a little more inconspicuous at the church.
I highly doubt that will actually stop someone if they want to get to us.
Nevertheless, we have to do the reception. If it were up to me, we wouldn’t, but clearly, nothing is up to me.
My jaw tenses. I take a deep breath, and then get out of the car. I hold the door open for Rosalie, and then take her hand to help her up.
Neither of these things I have to do, but they look nice for the cameras. Plus, something about the sadness in her eyes as we drove got to me.
As much as she says she’s a willing participant, I have a hard time believing it.
I continue to hold her hand as we head into the reception. We’re introduced as “Mr. and Mrs. Dresvanni.” I’m surprised, considering I wasn’t expecting that Rosalie would take my last name. Apparently so.
It’s much like the rehearsal, except people are clearly on edge. Everyone I talk to asks me about the rehearsal, in some vague way at least.
The focus should be on us as a couple, but it’s difficult when everyone is wondering who exactly shot us up the last time they were here.
I don’t blame them. I want to know that too.
“It’s time for your first dance,” Patricia tells us.
I nod and take Rosalie’s hand just like we practiced. I see the uncertain look in her eyes, but she keeps the soft smile on her face all the same. I keep my face relaxed and try to look at only her as we head to the middle of the dance floor.
A long and overly romantic classical song comes on over the speakers as I pull her close to me. I touch her waist and hold her hand firmly and pull her in even closer than she originally stands.
She gives me a look of surprise that quickly fixes itself and she moves along with each of my steps.
“Were you looking at your ex during the ceremony?” I ask her quietly as I move my head to the side of hers, tilting it down toward her ear.
Rosalie stiffens just a bit. She’s quiet, like she’s debating on her answer.
“You can tell me, it’s fine,” I insist.
She sighs. “I was,” she admits. “I can’t believe Eivor put him on the guard team for this.”
“It does seem like a risky move,” I agree. “Unless, he would do anything to protect you.”
Rosalie is quiet for another moment, and I sense a sadness in the way she moves along with my body. Even so, dancing with her is natural, easy. I don’t find it difficult in the slightest.
She might not feel the same. Her pulse is racing. I can feel it in her palm.
“He might,” she finally tells me.
I hum out in response before letting her glide away from me for a spin that gets a few reactions from the crowd before drawing her near once more.
She smells good. Floral and sweet. Not like the soap I used to shower this morning in the safe-house.
It’s enough to distract me from the fact that everyone is staring at us. As though this dance is a grand romantic gesture, rather than simply tradition.
“Why did you break up?” I whisper into her other ear after changing sides.
“Why do you think?” Rosalie asks in return, but doesn’t make me answer. “This.”
“Ah. So, you broke up with him to marry me. I thought you weren’t forced into this.” I can’t help but smirk a little. The idea that Rosalie might be just as miserable as me actually makes me a little giddy. She has been so high and mighty about it all.
