Romance

The gala entrance smelled like citrus peel and polished wood, that clean, expensive kind of bright that always made Mara feel overdressed in her own life. The doormen’s uniforms were crisp enough to cut paper, and the flash of camera bulbs kept winking at her from the crowd like impatient fireflies. She’d told herself she was only here to be seen - one hour, one drink, one polite smile - then she’d go back to the quiet where people didn’t look at her like she owed them something.

Theo Marquez didn’t look like that.

He was just a few steps away from her, close enough that she could feel the heat of him through the thin fabric of the evening air. His tux fit like it belonged to him, not the other way around. When he shifted his weight, the cuff of his sleeve brushed the edge of her attention - subtle, deliberate. Mara caught the faint scent of his cologne under the perfume cloud: cedar and something darker, like ink on paper.

“Ellison,” he said, and her name sounded better in his mouth than it had any right to.

She swallowed, forcing her pulse to stay steady. “Marquez.”

He smiled like he was pleased she hadn’t corrected him, like the shared familiarity was a choice they’d already made. Their orbit tightened as they moved with the slow current of guests - toward the ballroom doors, toward the noise, toward the moment she’d wanted before the night swallowed it.

A string quartet began to thread music through the hall, bright notes bouncing off marble. The host’s voice boomed somewhere ahead, but it was softened by laughter and the hush of money moving in groups. Mara glanced at Theo’s hands - long fingers, careful rings catching the light - and thought, stupidly, about how he’d offered her his name first, like he wasn’t afraid of being known.

She didn’t trust herself with that kind of hope. Not tonight. Not when the event was built to make people perform.

Theo tipped his head toward the ballroom, his gaze tracking hers. “You look like you came to survive.”

Mara let out a quiet breath that could have been a laugh. “And you look like you came to win.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “Maybe I’m just tired of pretending the same smile fits everyone.”

The words should’ve been smooth. Instead, they landed too honestly, and Mara felt the shift - like a door she hadn’t known she was leaning on had opened.

She turned her body slightly toward him, giving him more of her attention than politeness would require. “If you’re tired, then don’t pretend.”

His eyes held hers, warm and steady. “You first.”

There was a beat where the crowd parted around them, not physically but emotionally, as if the music had made room. Mara found herself smiling without permission. “Fine,” she said. “I want one carefree hour.”

Theo’s expression flickered - something almost like relief, quickly masked. “Then we should probably stop talking like we’re on an interview.”

“I’m not,” Mara said, and the lie was so easy it surprised her. “I’m just… trying.”

Trying to be normal. Trying not to think about how the last time she’d let herself want something, it had cost her. Trying not to let the way Theo looked at her make her forget she had a life waiting outside these walls.

Theo’s gaze dropped to her mouth for half a second - long enough to ignite her skin, not long enough to cross any line she hadn’t agreed to. Mara’s throat tightened. The corridor beyond the entrance breathed cooler air, carrying the faint smell of damp stone and fresh flowers from the staging.

“Come on,” he murmured, and the music became a suggestion instead of a command. “Before your hour gets stolen.”

His hand didn’t reach for hers immediately. It hovered at the space between them, palm open, asking without asking. Mara could’ve stepped back. She could’ve made a joke and stayed in the safe distance of conversation.

Instead, she slid her fingers into his.

His skin was warm, his touch firm without being heavy. When their hands connected, the noise of the gala shifted - like someone had turned down the volume on the world and left the two of them in focus. Theo guided her forward, their joined momentum pulling her toward the ballroom doors.

The lights inside were softer than the entrance, gold and honeyed. Chandeliers hung like suspended constellations, and the dance floor - polished enough to reflect every glittering hem - waited under a layer of anticipation. Couples moved in slow arcs, careful not to collide with the donors’ tables. Servers threaded through like they knew the choreography by heart.

Mara’s shoes clicked once on the marble as she and Theo stepped into the ballroom. The sound was bright; the air was warm with bodies and perfume. She felt Theo’s thumb brush the back of her hand - brief, almost absent - then settle.

“Carefree hour,” he repeated, and this time his voice carried a tease that made her want to believe him.

Mara lifted her glass from a passing tray without asking....