The music swelled again as Serena reentered the ballroom, her composure fully restored.
Warm candlelight poured through the open veranda doors, mingling with the scent of lilies and wine. The crowd shifted, silks and laughter moving like waves. She lifted her chin, letting the rhythm of conversation wash over her until she found him again — Christopher Cross, the quiet center of the storm he pretended not to control.
He was speaking to a group of peers, half-smiling at something one of them said. He looked as he always did — detached, impeccable, a man who could afford not to care. But when his gaze brushed hers from across the room, something in the line of his mouth changed. Subtly, almost imperceptibly. A small acknowledgment that she existed — that she had succeeded in catching his attention.
Her heart fluttered despite her restraint.
Good, she thought. Now let him come to me.
