Page 98 of My Real Love Affair

“Oh, you’re a fashion influencer?” one woman had said, her tone making it sound like I’d admitted to being a professional mime. “How… quaint. I have someone who does my shopping for me. Much more efficient.”

Another couple had asked what I did, and when I’d explained about plus-size fashion advocacy, the woman had touched my arm and said, “That’s so brave. I could never be comfortable at your size. But good for you!”

I had smiled politely and excused myself before I said something that would end up as a blind item in tomorrow’s gossip columns.

A man who introduced himself as “Preston, of the Charleston Prestons” had asked how I knew Austin. Did I serve him his coffee? Or was I waitress? That one had nearly broken my composure.

These people lived in a different world. One where summers were a verb and winter meant Aspen or St. Moritz. Conversations centered around yacht maintenance and which private school was “going downhill.”

I couldn’t relate to any of it. Didn’t want to relate to any of it.

The whole evening felt pointless. It was an extravagant display of wealth and influence where people came to see and be seen, to make connections that would make them richer. It was all about reminding each other of their place in the social hierarchy.

I was ready to fake a headache and call a car home. But Austin couldn’t leave and I wasn’t going to leave him by himself. So I kept my smile in place. I made more small talk with people I hoped I never saw again.

I listened to a woman drone on and on about the designer that she hired to decorate her home in the Hamptons. She was angry the man had gone with cottage blue instead of robin’s egg blue. They were currently in court over it.

While she talked, I made a mental grocery list. It would be rude to pull out my phone and pull up the delivery app, so I did it in my head.

My eyes drifted around the room. I caught Austin looking at me from across the ballroom. He was standing with two other men. The man looked like he was ready to pull his hair out.

His lips quirked in the tiniest smile. And everything shifted.

He looked at me like I was the only person in the room. Like everyone else was just background noise and I was the only thing that mattered. Like he saw me. Really saw me.

I saw so much warmth in that one look. He appreciated that I was here. It meant a lot to me to know he wanted me here. That he needed me here.

I felt myself relax for the first time since I had arrived. That cute little smile had given me the fortitude I needed to get through another hour of small talk with people had nothing in common with.

Maybe I could do this. I could be uncomfortable and endure condescending conversations and sideways looks and thinly veiled judgment. If Austin kept looking at me like that, I was pretty sure I could walk through fire for him.

I turned my attention back to the woman who was now talking about the artwork she didn’t want. I made a few sounds to let her know I was listening.

He excused himself from whatever conversation he’d been trapped in and made his way across the ballroom toward me. People stepped aside, creating a path, like they instinctively knew to make room for a Bancroft.

“Having fun?” he asked when he reached me, his voice low and warm. He very carefully guided me away from the woman. She just kept talking to the other people clustered around her.

“Define fun,” I said.

“Fair point.” His hand found the small of my back, warm even through the silk of my dress. “Dance with me?”

“Are you sure?” I asked. “Shouldn’t we schmooze?”

“Please?” His thumb moved in a small circle on my back. I felt that touch everywhere. “Save me from having to make small talk with my father’s business associates about quarterly earnings and their new private jets.”

“Well, when you put it that way, how can I say no? You’re a man in need.”

He guided me onto the dance floor. I was acutely aware of every eye following us. The Bancroft family watched from various corners of the ballroom. We were definitely making a statement.

“You’re putting on quite a show,” I said as we fell into the rhythm of a slow waltz. His hand on my waist, my hand in his, moving together like we’d done this a thousand times.

He looked down at me, his dark eyes intense. “Who said anything about this being a show?”

My heart skipped. Several beats. “What?”

“This. You being here. Us dancing.” His voice was quiet, meant only for me despite the crowd around us. “I’m not performing right now, Melody. This is just us. Me. This is real.”

“Austin, we don’t need to have this conversation right now.”