The Reception (Continued)

Anna’s POV – Present

Madison’s perfume lingers long after she steps away.

Sweet. Expensive. Familiar.

It clings to the air like a memory I don’t want.

I keep smiling.

Because cameras are everywhere.

Because weakness here would be fatal.

Because this world does not forgive cracks.

But my hands—

My hands won’t cooperate.

They’re trembling.

Not violently.

Not enough for anyone across the room to notice.

Just enough that the champagne glass vibrates faintly between my fingers.

A soft, almost invisible shake.

But I feel it.

And I hate it.

I hate that after everything… they can still affect me.

I hate that even standing here, dressed in silk and diamonds, I can still feel like that girl in the doorway.

Small.

I lower the glass slightly, hoping no one notices.

But someone does.

Xavier.

He doesn’t look at my face.

He looks at my hands.

And before I can pull away—

He gently takes the glass from me.

No sudden movement.

No attention drawn.

Just smooth. Controlled.

He sets it aside on a passing tray like it means nothing.

Then, without a word, he takes both of my hands into his.

My breath catches.

His palms are warm.

Steady.

Completely still.

The difference between us feels overwhelming.

Where I am unsteady—

He is grounded.

Where I am trying to hold myself together—

He already is.

He leans slightly closer.

From the outside, it looks intimate.

Romantic.

A newlywed whisper shared between husband and wife.

But his voice is low. Controlled.

Private.

“Look at me.”

I do.

I don’t even realise I’m holding my breath until his eyes meet mine.

His gaze is calm.

Not questioning.

Not pitying.

Grounded.

Like he’s not looking at me—

But through everything else.

“Your hands,” he says quietly. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I whisper automatically.

The answer comes too quickly.

Too practiced.

I’ve said those words my whole life.

I’m fine.

I’m okay.

It doesn’t matter.

He studies me for half a second.

Not long.

But enough.

Then his thumbs press lightly against my knuckles.

Not tight.

Not controlling.

Just enough pressure to anchor me.

“Breathe,” he says.

The same word from the altar.

The same calm command.

Inhale.

Exhale.

At first, my chest resists.

Tight.

Shallow.

But I follow anyway.

Because his voice makes it sound simple.

Because he makes it feel possible.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Again.

And slowly—

The trembling fades.

Not completely.

But enough.

Enough that I can feel my fingers again.

Enough that the noise of the room stops pressing against my ears.

The music returns.

Soft.

Distant.

Controlled.

And for the first time tonight…

I don’t feel like I’m drowning in it.

The Shift

When he releases my hands, he doesn’t step away.

He stays close.

Close enough that I can feel the warmth of him beside me.

A quiet presence.

A silent wall between me and the world.

Between me—

And everything that just tried to pull me back.

His hand returns to my waist.

Light.

Steady.

Like before.

But now I understand it differently.

It’s not just for show.

Realisation

I glance at him briefly.

He’s already looking ahead.

Focused.

Unbothered.

Like nothing just happened.

Like he didn’t just notice something no one else did.

Like he didn’t just… steady me.

And something about that—

About how effortless it was—

Unsettles me more than anything else tonight.

Because the rumours said Xavier Cortez was cold.

Distant.

Untouchable.

But cold men don’t notice trembling hands.

Cold men don’t adjust without asking.

Cold men don’t say breathe like it matters whether you do.

Final Thought

And as the music continues and the room fills again with quiet conversations and polite laughter—

I realise something I didn’t expect.

This world still doesn’t feel like mine.

But standing beside him—

It doesn’t feel impossible anymore.