Ch 4: Elena—Watch Me Dance With Him

Adrian's hand burns against the small of my back.

We're at the Metropolitan Opera's gala, our first public appearance as a couple and every eye in the ballroom tracks our movement like we're specimens under glass.

"Smile," Adrian murmurs near my ear. "They're watching."

"Let them." I adjust my grip on my champagne flute. "That's the point."

His fingers press harder against the emerald silk. Possessive. He has no right to touch me this way.

I should pull away. Make a scene. Remind him that proximity doesn't mean permission.

Instead, I let him guide me through the crowd because these witnesses need to see us together. 

They need to believe Victor Kane's will is bringing us back together instead of tearing us apart in slow motion.

"Victoria Ashford," Adrian warns. "She's circling."

Sure enough, Park Avenue royalty wrapped in Chanel glides toward us with a champagne flute and a predator's smile.

"Adrian Kane. Back from the dead." Victoria's eyes slide to me. "And with Elena Sinclair. How resilient of you both!"

"Victoria." Adrian's voice could freeze water. "Still draining your third husband's trust fund?"

Her smile sharpens. "Still letting dead men pull your strings?"

She floats away before Adrian can respond.

"Breathe," I say. His hand has gone rigid against my spine. "They smell weakness like sharks smell blood."

"I know." His jaw works. "I used to be one of them."

‘Used to be.’  Like five years changed him into something different. Something better. I don't believe that for a second.

"There's Daniel." I nod toward the entrance where Daniel Morrison stands scanning the crowd. Six feet of surgeon's precision wrapped in black suit, looking like every mother's dream son-in-law.

Adrian's hand tightens against my back. "You invited him."

"I told him I'd be here. That’s all."

He takes his hands off my waist. "Are you sure that’s all?" 

"News flash!" I drain my champagne and set the empty flute on a passing tray. "I wanted him here."

He smirks and stares at me. "Perfect."

I took my eyes off him to watch Daniel spot me.

"Elena." Daniel stops in front of us, his smile warm and genuine. He barely glances at Adrian. "You look devastating."

"Daniel." I accept his kiss on my cheek, let it linger just long enough for every camera in the room to capture it. "I didn't know you'd be here so early."

"Pediatric surgery fundraiser. I'm on the board." His hand finds my waist—the exact spot Adrian just abandoned. "Dance with me?"

I feel Adrian's heavy stare on me. Every society photographer in the ballroom pivots toward us. "Let’s move before the song forgets us, Dan." I grin at Daniel as he leads me onto the dance floor.

The string quartet swells into a waltz. His hand settles at my waist—respectful, appropriate, nothing like Adrian's possessive grip.

He smells like expensive cologne and antiseptic. Clean. Safe. Everything Adrian Kane will never be.

"You're using me," Daniel says as we begin to move. His voice holds no accusation. Just observation.

My steps falter. "What?"

"To make him jealous." He spins me, his smile never wavering for the cameras. "It's fine. I'm aware."

Heat crawls up my neck. "Daniel—"

"I'm not asking you to stop." His brown eyes—kind, uncomplicated—search mine. "But for the record, when you're done playing games with Kane, I'd like to take you to dinner. A real one. Where we talk about things that don't involve jealousy games."

"You don't know—"

"I know enough." He pulls me closer as the music swells. "Would you like me to show you what it looks like when someone stays?"

"Daniel—"

"I'm not asking for an answer now." His thumb brushes my waist. "I'm just telling you: when you're ready to stop looking backward, I'll be here."

The song ends. He bows, kisses the back of my palm, and walks away like he didn't just offer me everything I should want.

I stand on the dance floor, suddenly exposed. Cameras flash. The gossip reaches a crescendo, vibrating through the floorboards.

Then Adrian's hand catches my elbow. "Back to my space."

The quartet begins the final waltz. He pulls me closer than appropriate for two people who hate each other. I could feel his heart hammering against my ribs.

"He wants you." 

"Good."

"Is it?"

"That's the point of this arrangement. You get to watch me be happy with someone else."

His hand splays across my lower back. His fingers span my spine like he's trying to memorize every vertebra. "Are you happy with him?"

"That's none of your business."

"We're supposed to be courting."

"We're supposed to be performing."

We move together, and my body betrays me. "Don't," I whisper.

"Don't what?"

"Make me remember."

"I remember everything, Elena." His mouth hovers near my temple. His breath is warm against my skin. "The way you hum when you're concentrating. How you cry at insurance commercials but never at funerals. The sound you make when—"

"Stop."

"I can't." His fingers tighten against my spine. "I've tried for five years to forget you. I can't. Can't stop wanting you. Can't stop—"

Our eyes lock. The ballroom disappears. Three hundred people, society photographers, Victoria Ashford's malicious laughter—all of it vanishes like smoke.

There's only this: his blue eyes drowning in regret, mine burning with I refuse to admit.

His gaze drops to my mouth. My pulse hammers in my throat.

Just seconds. That's all it takes for five years of carefully constructed armor to crack straight down the middle.

Then the music ends. Reality crashes back. Applause. Camera flashes. Every pairs of eyes dissecting every little expression on my face.

I step back. Adrian's hand falls away, but his fingers trail down my arm—deliberate, devastating.

"Thank you for the dance." My voice doesn't sound like mine.

"Elena—"

I walk away before he can finish. Before I do something catastrophic like staying.

Daniel waits near the exit with my coat. "Ready to leave?"

I take his arm without looking back. But I know Adrian's eyes are on me all the way to the door.