“Ella, what’s wrong?” Nate asked while we danced, and his bandmate Christian sang on stage.
“Ah—no—nothing, nothing,” I stuttered and quickly looked away from Vincent, who was now talking to my dad.
“Why do you keep looking at him?” Nate asked.
“A—what? Who?” I asked, frowning. I tried not to glance again at where Vincent was. Kuya might catch on.
“You’re cute, Lala,” he said and pinched my reddened cheek.
“Kuya!” I scolded and slapped his hand away.
“Well, you look good tonight,” I praised him and straightened his tuxedo. “You suit formal attire better.”
He just laughed at me. “I’m not comfortable wearing this ridiculous stuff,” he complained.
“You are more handsome when you dress like that,” I told him.
My brother just smiled at me and kept dancing.
My feet
