The gala continued around them, but the air had shifted.
Mila felt it immediately. The weight of everyone's attention that hadn't been there before.
Eyes tracked her from across the room, curious and assessing, trying to piece together who she was and what her connection to Markus Hale could possibly be.
She could hear conversations around her continue in low murmurs, but she could feel the speculation underneath them, the way people were cataloging her presence and trying to fit her into a framework that made sense.
She didn't move.
She didn't want to.
Dante was closer than he'd been before.
Not dramatically. Not obviously. But she felt the shift in his proximity, the way his hand had moved from resting lightly at her back to something firmer, more deliberate. His palm pressed against the small of her back with quiet possession, his fingers splayed slightly, anchoring her in place.
