Chapter 3: One Dance, Five Years Late

With only minutes left before the benefit begins, Evan walks over to the host and quietly changes the program.

The host looks surprised. He glances toward the center of the head table, where Adrian gives him a single nod.

A staff member soon approaches Rosalie. “Mira, Mr. Mercer would like you to join the head table.”

She follows his gaze.

Adrian is already seated, wearing a charcoal suit instead of the black one he arrived in. The mist-blue tie she sent that afternoon is knotted neatly at his throat, the silver half-rose resting just below it.

A smile slowly reaches Rosalie’s eyes.

The tie was only her first test. She wanted to know whether, after five years, Adrian would still let her have her way with him.

Apparently, he would.

At this rate, she might actually get him into bed tonight.

The place to Adrian’s right has been reset for her.

Rosalie gathers her skirt and sits. The blue fabric brushes his trouser leg, and her perfume follows.

Adrian continues listening to the man on his other side. He does not even glance at her, as though he had nothing to do with bringing her over.

Only his fingers tighten around his champagne glass.

Rosalie notices and hides a smile.

Once every guest is seated, the host introduces the evening’s cause and invites Adrian to the stage.

He carries no notes. After adjusting the microphone, he looks over the ballroom.

“Thank you for being here tonight. Leukemia research requires time, money, and people willing to keep going when the results are uncertain. The Mercer Foundation supports that research, along with treatment for patients who cannot afford it.”

His voice remains calm.

“Medicine cannot promise everyone a miracle. What we can do is give more people the time to wait for one.”

The room falls quiet.

Rosalie watches him from the head table, one finger resting against the stem of her glass.

The last trace of the boy she knew is gone. Onstage, Adrian is controlled and assured, carrying an authority that makes it hard to imagine him at twenty-two.

She would know him anywhere.

His gaze passes over the room and stops on her.

Rosalie meets it without looking away. The approval in her eyes is open, almost shameless.

Adrian holds her gaze. His delivery never falters, though his voice softens in a way only she would notice.

When the speech ends, the ballroom breaks into applause.

Adrian remains onstage.

The host joins him with a smile. “Thank you, Mr. Mercer. Now, please welcome TÉRA’s senior jewelry designer, Mira, to join Mr. Mercer for a photograph.”

A low murmur moves through the room.

Rosalie looks up in surprise. The organizers told her this afternoon that the photograph had been canceled.

Adrian stands beside the host, composed enough to look innocent.

She raises an eyebrow.

He is good at pretending.

With half the ballroom watching, Rosalie sets down her glass and walks to the stage.

Up close, Adrian’s familiar scent reaches her. Even in heels, she has to tip her chin up to meet his blue eyes.

“Mr. Mercer.”

Her smile is perfectly polite as she offers him her hand.

The room seems to wait with her. Adrian has already broken one of his rules by agreeing to the photograph. Now everyone wants to see whether he will break another.

Rosalie keeps her hand extended. The confidence in her eyes is meant for him alone.

She knows he will take it.

After a brief pause, Adrian closes his hand around hers.

His palm is warm and dry, his grip deceptively gentle. To the cameras, it is an ordinary handshake.

Rosalie lets the tip of one finger skim his palm.

Adrian’s fingers go still around hers.

Encouraged, she traces one of the lines in his palm, slow enough that there can be no mistaking it for an accident.

She has always known exactly how to provoke him.

Adrian’s breathing deepens. Five years ago, this hand slipped out of his without an explanation. Now she returns and uses it to tease him in front of a room full of cameras.

What makes her think he will still indulge her?

His fingers close hard around hers, trapping her hand before it can move again. His wedding ring presses painfully into her knuckle.

Rosalie’s smile almost slips.

She turns slightly away from the cameras and shoots him a warning look.

Adrian meets it without changing expression. The satisfaction in his eyes is unmistakable.

They remain locked in the handshake while shutters fire around them. It lasts long enough for the room to notice.

Tomorrow’s headlines are writing themselves.

Adrian finally releases her.

Rosalie draws back her aching hand and looks at his ring.

She knows every line of it. She designed it to match her own, intending to slide it onto his finger at their engagement party five years ago.

The party never finished. She never got the chance.

Yet the same ring is still on his hand.

Rosalie has heard the rumors about his secret marriage, but she never let herself look closely enough to find out which ring he wore.

He kept theirs.

The ache in her knuckle is suddenly the least of it.

Adrian watches the surprise cross her face, but says nothing. They turn toward the cameras together. With her gown matching his tie, they look as if they arrived together.

When the photographs are finished, Rosalie starts toward the steps.

“Mira, please stay,” the host says.

She stops.

He checks the newly revised program. “Mr. Mercer and Mira will now open tonight’s charity ball.”

Rosalie slowly turns back.

Adrian no longer bothers pretending he had nothing to do with it. He holds out his hand, his gaze steady on hers.

“Ms. Hayes,” he says, low enough for her alone. “Shall we?”