chapter 8 the dance
764 Words
Anna
stood at the entrance of the Grand Orchid Hotel ballroom, her pulse drumming in her ears.
Gold chandeliers blazed overhead, casting molten light across crystal tables and women shimmering in gowns that cost more than her father’s yearly salary. The air was thick with laughter, champagne, and the scent of power—heady and suffocating.
She didn’t belong here. She knew it. Everyone else knew it.
“You’re gripping my arm like a lifeline,” David murmured, his voice brushing her ear as his hand rested on the small of her back, guiding her forward.
Anna jerked her hand away, heat rushing to her cheeks. “I don’t need your help.”
His mouth curved, slow and deliberate. “No? Because right now, you look like you’d rather crawl under one of those tables than walk into a room full of people staring at you.”
“I wouldn’t be here if you didn’t drag me.”
“That’s what husbands do.” His gray eyes glinted. “Besides, I told you—I want everyone to see you. To envy you.”
Her heart gave an unsteady lurch. She told herself it was anger. Nothing else.
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The evening blurred into polite smiles and empty conversations. Anna stayed close to David because she had no choice, enduring whispers and curious glances that prickled like needles against her skin.
When the orchestra struck the first notes of a waltz, couples began gliding onto the polished floor in swirls of silk and diamonds.
Anna exhaled, relief washing over her. At least she could watch from a safe corner until this ordeal ended.
“Dance with me.”
The words landed like a command, not a request.
She turned, her stomach knotting. “No.”
David’s brow lifted, a predator humored by his prey. “You think you have a choice?”
“Yes,” she said, sharper than she felt.
His smile was slow, dangerous. “You agreed to be my wife, Anna. That means when I hold out my hand…” He extended it, palm up, his voice dropping to a velvet threat. “…you take it.”
Her breath hitched. Heat crawled up her neck as dozens of eyes seemed to swivel toward them. Refusing him here would be social suicide—and worse, it would humiliate him.
Grinding her teeth, Anna slid her hand into his.
The moment his fingers closed around hers, something hot and electric shot through her veins. His grip was firm, possessive, his palm warm against her trembling skin as he drew her to the center of the floor.
The music swelled. And then his other hand was at her waist—steady, commanding—pulling her closer than propriety allowed.
Anna’s breath stuttered. “This is insane.”
“Relax,” he murmured, his lips curving near her ear as they began to move in perfect sync. “People are watching. You wouldn’t want them thinking we’re not in love.”
Her pulse skittered wildly. His cologne—dark spice and smoke—wrapped around her senses, making her dizzy.
“You’re enjoying this,” she accused, trying to mask the tremor in her voice.
“Maybe,” he said softly. “You’re not as bad at this as I thought.”
She wanted to snap back, but the words tangled in her throat because all she could feel was him—his strength guiding her effortlessly, his breath fanning her cheek, the heat of his hand burning through silk at her waist.
“Stop staring at me,” she muttered.
“I wasn’t,” he lied smoothly, his gaze pinning her like a steel blade. “But now that you’ve mentioned it…” His voice dipped lower, sending a shiver racing down her spine. “You really shouldn’t wear red if you don’t want men looking at you like a sin they’re ready to commit.”
Her heart slammed so hard she was sure he could feel it against his chest.
The music slowed, the final notes curling through the air like smoke. David didn’t release her immediately. His hand lingered at her waist, his breath warm against her temple as he murmured:
“Stay close to me tonight, Anna. Not everyone here is as polite as I am.”
Then he was gone, leaving her trembling in the middle of the ballroom—furious at him. Furious at herself.
Because for the first time since this nightmare began… she wasn’t sure the fear pounding in her chest was the only reason her heart raced.
- Writer
