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Ethan and I wandered into one of the quieter boutiques, hands intertwining as we strolled between the racks. This place felt way more peaceful than the others, soft lighting, warm beige walls, and gentle music playing like a soothing lullaby, especially after the whirlwind Gigi had put us through.
I let my fingers glide over sequined hems and silky fabrics while Ethan casually browsed through a row of suits, still holding my hand and tracing lazy circles over my knuckles with his thumb.
"So," he said, glancing down at me with that easy smile of his, "how many winter balls have you actually been to? You don't seem like the type who'd go every year."
I chuckled softly, shaking my head. "Just once. And that was ages ago."
He stopped, looking genuinely surprised. "Only once? Why's that?"
