THE BILLIONAIRE'S BARGAIN BRIDE

THE GALA

Chapter Eleven: The Gala

The Cole Hospitality Group's spring gala was, by every measure Elena's professional eye could apply, a triumph, her ice-garden centerpieces catching the light exactly as she'd envisioned them, the room humming with the particular energy of an event that was actually working, rather than merely functioning.

She barely noticed any of it, because Damian Cole was walking toward her across the ballroom floor in a black tie that fit him like an argument for the existence of tailors, and every rehearsed thought in her head had evaporated on contact.

"You did this," he said, arriving at her side, glancing around at the room with something like wonder. "All of it."

"I had a very motivating deadline," Elena said. "Something about a will and an uncle and considerable stakes."

"It's extraordinary." He looked at her, not the room, when he said it, and Elena felt the compliment land somewhere it had no business landing, given the contract sitting in a drawer in both their offices.

The orchestra struck up something slow, and Damian held out his hand with a formality that didn't quite disguise the nerves underneath it. "Dance with me. For the cameras."

"Is that the official reason?"

"It's the reason I'm allowed to say out loud," Damian admitted, and Elena laughed, and took his hand.

They moved together more easily than either of them had any right to expect from two people who'd started this as a business transaction. Damian, it turned out, danced the way he did everything carefully, deliberately, like each step was a decision he'd made on purpose rather than something instinctive. But somewhere in the second turn around the floor, some of that careful control slipped, and he pulled her fractionally closer, and Elena felt the moment shift into something the contract had never once accounted for.

"Elena." Her name, in his voice, low enough that only she could hear it over the orchestra. "I need to tell you something, and I'm aware the timing is inconvenient."

"When has that stopped either of us?"

Damian's mouth curved, something helpless in it. "I don't think of this as a contract anymore. I haven't, for weeks. I keep trying to remember when it stopped being one, and I can't find the moment, which terrifies me more than I can adequately explain."

Elena's heart was beating so hard she was certain he could feel it through the hand resting at her waist. Damian…

"You don't have to say anything," he said quickly. "I know the terms. I know we agreed this ends cleanly, no complications. I just didn't want to keep pretending you were simply very good at your job, when the truth is considerably less convenient than that."

Elena looked up at him… really looked, the way she had at the night market, the way she'd been careful not to let herself since… and made a decision that had nothing to do with contracts or venues or bank foreclosures at all.

"I don't think of it as a contract anymore either," she said quietly. "I haven't since the pier. Possibly before that, if I'm honest, which apparently I'm required to be with you."

Something in Damian's expression cracked open entirely relief and disbelief and something warmer than either, all at once. His hand tightened at her waist, and for one suspended moment on a crowded dance floor full of cameras and champagne and people who thought they were watching a very convincing performance, it didn't feel like a performance at all.

"Elena Reyes," Damian said softly, "I believe I am in a great deal of trouble."

"Welcome to the club," Elena said, and let him pull her closer as the music played on, neither of them looking anywhere but at each other.