"Both."
I don't give her a chance to answer. I slide my hand from her waist to the center of her spine, pulling her flush against me. She lets out a soft, surprised breath, her eyes fluttering shut just before my mouth finds hers.
The kiss is slow. Deliberate. I'm hyper-aware of the crowded room, the string lights, the hundred people who could be watching us. Her lips are soft, warm.
She inhales sharply against my mouth. One hand tightens in my hair, pulling me closer, while the other slides up my chest, her fingers curling tightly into the lapel of my jacket as she kisses me back.
The music swells around us. I angle my head, deepening the pressure just enough to feel her lean into it, before the reality of the room forces me to pull back.
Her eyes are still closed. She opens them slowly, her gaze dark and entirely focused on me.
The slow song ends. The applause from the crowd breaks the spell.
We move off the dance floor, my hand still resting lightly at the small of her back. An older couple approaches near the hors d'oeuvres table.
"You two make a lovely pair," the woman says, smiling warmly. "How long have you been together?"
Sam doesn't miss a beat. "Six months."
I slide my arm around her waist, pull her a little closer. "Best six months of my life."
Sam's head turns. She looks at me.
I smile back. I mean it.
The older woman's smile deepens. "You can always tell when it's real. The way you look at each other."
She's right.
The couple moves on. Sam and I stand there, neither of us speaking.
"It's getting warm in here," I say finally.
She glances at me. "Yeah. It is."
"We should probably do one loop outside. You know, work stuff."
Her smile is small. "Right. Work stuff."
We walk toward the terrace doors. The night air hits us the moment we step outside—cool, sharp, carrying the scent of salt water. The property stretches out below, terraced gardens leading down toward the ocean. String lights glow soft in the trees.
I slip my arm around her shoulders.
She looks up at me.
"It's cooler out here," I say. "I don't want you to be cold."
"Thank you." Her voice is quiet. "Is that the only reason?"
I smile. "No."
She leans into me. "I'm not complaining."
We walk to the edge of the terrace—an overlook with a view of the water, string lights overhead, the sound of the waves below.
Sam stops. Turns to face me.
"This," she whispers. "Us. What happened inside. It's all real?"
