Page 48 of Convenient Vows

“Something like that.”

She grins, leaning forward slightly, chin in her palm.

“Well, you’re not what I expected either.”

I raise a brow.

“Oh?”

“No,” she says, tilting her head as if she’s examining me. “I thought you’d be rude. Brooding. Completely humorless.”

I narrow my eyes.

“I am humorless.”

She snorts. “You smiled earlier.”

My pulse kicks up.

So she saw that.

I keep my expression flat, picking up my glass.

“You were flailing around the kitchen like you were under attack by the whisk. It was hard not to laugh.”

“That wasn’t flailing,” she says, gasping in mock offense. “That was rhythm.”

I take a slow sip of wine, letting myself enjoy the moment more than I should.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I know,” she replies, proud and unapologetic.

We both laugh.

A real, low, shared laugh that settles something between us — not explosive, not world-changing, but steady. Human.

I feel my guard shift. Not fall completely — that never happens — but cracks just enough to let the warmth in.

She watches me after that, her head tilted slightly, eyes full of curiosity, not calculation.

“You don’t let many people in, do you?” she asks softly.

I meet her gaze.

“No.”

She nods like she already knew. We finish dinner with more silence, but it’s different now. Not empty and awkward, but more like companionable and comfortable. The kind of silence that’s shared rather than endured.

After I clear the plates, she leans back in her chair and stretches, her arms above her head, the sweater pulling slightly at the hem. My eyes linger for just a second before I force myself to look away because I’m already in trouble with this woman.

The ballroom is too polished. Too loud. Too full of people pretending not to be dangerous.

Crystal chandeliers throw gold light over men in tuxedos and women in shimmering gowns. Laughter rings through the air, brittle and hollow, bouncing off marble columns and gilded mirrors.

I hate these things.

Too many snakes in suits. Too many smiles with fangs behind them.

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