Ella
The charity dinner was, Kylian informed me, a trial run. Small enough that a misstep wouldn't make headlines, prominent enough that the right people would see us and start the rumor mill turning in exactly the direction we needed.
"You're overthinking the hand-holding," he said, two nights before, both of us standing in the middle of his study while Camille supervised from an armchair like a judge scoring an event she found only mildly interesting. "It's not complicated. You just hold my hand."
"It's complicated when I know we're performing it."
"Then stop thinking about it as performance." He held his hand out, patient in a way that had started to feel less like strategy and more like something else I hadn't examined too closely. "Think about it as something you'd do if you actua
