Chapter 94 : The Dance I Didn’t Volunteer For
Mrs. Whitmore’s smile never faltered, but her elbow moved with the quiet precision of a seasoned general issuing a command. The nudge to Daniel’s side was subtle—practically invisible beneath the shimmer of her chiffon sleeve—but I saw it. Oh, I saw it. Daniel cleared his throat immediately, the sound soft but deliberate, like someone stepping up to a podium. Across from me, Aunt Helena’s lashes lowered in anticipation. Ruby’s eyes widened in silent warning. And I knew, with dreadful certainty, that the next sixty seconds would determine whether I survived this evening with dignity intact.
“Leila,” Daniel began, offering a hand polished by confidence and family legacy, “may I have this dance?” His voice was smooth, charming, rehearsed—but not insincere. The string quartet shifted into something slower, richer, the kind of melody that demanded proximity. My brain scrambled for an escape route. A fake phone call? Sudden illness? Spontaneous vow of celibacy? I opened my mouth to decline politely—gracefully, diplomatically—like a woman who valued autonomy and comfortable shoes.
“She’d love to,” Aunt Helena answered brightly before a single syllable left my lips.
I turned my head so slowly I could have been in a suspense film. Aunt Helena met my glare with serene satisfaction, as if she’d just corrected a clerical error rather than volunteered me for public display. “Go on, darling,” she added gently, smoothing imaginary lint from my sleeve. “Enjoy yourself.” Enjoy yourself. As though I had just been invited to sample hors d’oeuvres, not participate in a socially sanctioned evaluation ritual.
. Daniel’s fingers closed around mine before I could protest further, warm and confident, and then I was being led toward the dance floor like a compliant extra in Aunt Helena’s master plan.
The ballroom lights softened near the center, gold reflections shimmering across marble as couples began to sway. Daniel placed his hand on my waist with careful deliberation—just slightly firmer than necessary—and drew me closer than etiquette strictly required. “I’m glad she said yes,” he murmured, smiling down at me. “I was hoping you wouldn’t disappear before I had the chance.” His tone was playful, but his hold tightened a fraction, possessive in a way that made my internal alarms flicker politely. I gave him a composed smile. “I wasn’t aware I was in danger of being misplaced,” I replied lightly. “Trust me,” he said, leaning closer, “I wouldn’t have let that happen.”
Somewhere in the distance, I swear I heard wedding bells warming up.
“You look stunning tonight,” he said, drawing me closer. Closer. A little closer. Sir, this is a dance, not a rescue mission.
“Thank you,” I replied with a diplomatic smile. “I value personal space, but we can negotiate.”
He laughed softly, but instead of loosening his hold, he adjusted it—securely. “I wouldn’t let you drift away,” he murmured.
Drift away? I wasn’t a helium balloon.
We began to move in slow circles. Daniel was a good dancer, I’ll give him that. Smooth. Controlled. Extremely sure I wasn’t going anywhere. Every time I subtly leaned back to create breathing room, he compensated like a GPS recalculating the route. I tried a wider turn. He reeled me back in with polished precision. I attempted a dignified half-step of independence. He countered with what I can only describe as ballroom Velcro.
Across the floor, Ruby was dancing with Arman and actually laughing. Laughing. Traitor number two. She caught my eye and raised her brows in silent commentary: You okay? I responded with the faintest blink that translated to: Send help and possibly a distraction involving fire.
Daniel leaned closer, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “I’m glad we’re dancing,” he said. “I was hoping you wouldn’t get claimed by someone else.”
Claimed. Like I was a limited-edition collectible.
“I assure you,” I replied sweetly, “I’m not part of the silent auction.”
He chuckled but tightened his hand just slightly, as if confirming I had not, in fact, been purchased by a rival bidder.
“You’re different,” he continued, studying me with intense focus. The kind of focus usually reserved for rare stock opportunities. “Most women here seem… rehearsed.”
“Give me time,” I said. “I can rehearse with the best of them.”
“I like that you’re sharp,” he added, inching closer again. I was beginning to suspect he thought the objective of slow dancing was to test how little oxygen two adults could share.
Then came the escalation. “We should step out to the terrace later,” he suggested. Not asked. Suggested. “It’s quieter. We could really talk.”
Ah yes. The Terrace. Capital T. Where conversations go to become suspiciously meaningful.
“I’m perfectly capable of talking here,” I replied lightly.
“But it’s crowded,” he said, as though the crowd was personally offending him. His hand slid slightly higher at my back—still polite, still socially acceptable, just determined.
“Crowds build character,” I countered.
The song drifted on, dramatic and lingering, and Daniel showed no sign of releasing me even as other couples subtly shifted apart between verses. Instead, he slowed our steps further, like he was trying to stretch the runtime. “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “our families have known each other for years. It’s nice when paths align naturally.”
Naturally. Yes. Like a meticulously scheduled ambush disguised as fate.
“That’s comforting,” I replied smoothly, my smile unwavering while my eyes—traitors to nothing—drifted past his shoulder toward the grand entrance. The towering doors stood framed in gold light, opening every few minutes to admit another wave of diamonds and tailored ambition. Any second now, I told myself. Any second a distraction would appear. A fire alarm. A collapsing ice sculpture. Preferably six feet two, infuriatingly composed, and named Grayson.
Daniel mistook my wandering gaze for something softer. “You’re very thoughtful,” he said warmly, tightening his hold as though emotional depth required physical reinforcement. “I like that.”
“I’m scanning for exits,” I corrected lightly.
He laughed. “You don’t need one.”
Sir. That is exactly what someone says when an exit is urgently required.
He guided me into another slow turn, pulling me right back into orbit before I could establish safe distance. “I believe in being intentional,” he continued. “When I see something I want, I don’t hesitate.”
Something. I blinked.
“That’s… efficient,” I said carefully.
“It saves time,” he replied. “Why circle around when you can move forward?”
Because circling allows oxygen, I wanted to say. And survival.
My eyes flicked to the entrance again. Still nothing. Just another couple sweeping in, the woman in red velvet, the man adjusting his cufflinks like he owned the concept of cufflinks. Not Grayson. Not my reluctant knight in a well-fitted suit. I felt ridiculous even thinking it. Since when was I hoping for him to rescue me? He’d probably stand at the bar, observe this entire situation, and critique my dance posture.
“You’re distracted,” Daniel murmured, dipping his head closer. His voice lowered. “Should I be concerned?”
“Only if you’re secretly the fire marshal,” I replied. “I keep expecting something dramatic to happen.”
His lips curved. “I can arrange something dramatic.”
Oh, I didn’t doubt that.
The music swelled again, and Daniel seized the opportunity to pull me closer—decisively closer. My shoulder brushed his chest. His hand settled more firmly at my back, fingers spreading slightly like he was anchoring a ship. Ballroom Velcro had evolved into premium industrial adhesive. “Relax,” he said softly, mistaking my tension for shyness. “You’re safe with me.”
Safe.
I glanced once more at the entrance, willing the doors to open with cinematic timing. If this were a movie, this would be the moment. The hero would stride in, jaw tight, eyes scanning the crowd. There would be tension. Chemistry. Possibly a dramatic score shift.
Instead, a waiter entered carrying a tray of champagne.
Daniel followed my gaze this time. “Expecting someone?” he asked casually, though the question carried weight.
“Just… watching the arrivals,” I said. “It’s fascinating.”
“Anyone in particular?”
“Yes,” I nearly said. No, I corrected it internally. Absolutely not.
“Not particularly,” I replied aloud, offering a breezy smile.
He studied me for a beat too long. “If there is,” he added gently, “I’d prefer to know. I don’t like competing blindly.”
Competing. As if this were a merger negotiation.
“That sounds exhausting,” I said. “Maybe we could all just… coexist?”
He smiled, but it didn’t fully reach his eyes. “I don’t really do half measures, Leila.”
The song began its slow descent toward the final notes, and my pulse synced with it—anticipation tightening in my chest. One more glance at the entrance. The doors shifted again. A tall silhouette stepped inside, backlit by the city glow. Broad shoulders. Familiar posture. My breath caught before I could stop it.
Daniel noticed that too. His hand tightened almost imperceptibly at my waist as the music faded and applause rose around us. “You did beautifully,” he murmured, still holding on half a second too long. “I think we make a very good pair.”
My eyes, however, were no longer on him.
They were fixed on the entrance.