I studied Augustus's outstretched hand.
At seventeen, I'd believed his invitation meant something. At twenty-six, I knew better than to trust convenient symbols.
"Should I expect another warning not to read too much into this?"
He met my gaze.
"No. I made that mistake once already."
The quartet swelled into my grandmother's favorite waltz. Augustus waited, palm open, giving me every opportunity to refuse.
Instead, I placed my hand in his.
"This is a networking reception," I informed him. "Dancing is perfectly normal professional behavior."
"Absolutely."
"I'm establishing industry connections."
"Very strategic."
"Nothing complicated about it."
"Of course not."
His expression suggested he found my reasoning deeply entertaining. I decided not to mention that my palms had gone damp before we even reached the floor.
He guided me onto the dance floor, one hand settling lightly at my waist. The other held mine as we joined the turning couples beneath the chandeliers.
