Mr. Rafa has kindly agreed to help," Mrs. Russo announced, her voice echoing through the grand ballroom.
"This is ridiculous," Rafa muttered under his breath, adjusting his tie with obvious irritation. His usually perfect appearance looked disheveled from three days of torture.
"I heard that," Mrs. Russo snapped, her eyes flashing dangerously. "Now, take her hand properly."
Rafa's grip was stiff and cold when he finally took Isabella's hand. He held her like she might break or explode at any moment. His palm was sweaty despite the cool morning air coming through the tall windows.
"Closer! How can you dance if you're standing in different rooms?" Mrs. Russo said, tapping her cane on the marble floor with sharp clicks.
The sound echoed through the grand ballroom. Isabella could smell Rafa's nervous sweat mixed with his expensive cologne. He stepped closer reluctantly, his jaw tight with dread. The muscles in his neck were visibly tense.
