Dante didn't warn her.
One moment Camille was adjusting her bracelet in the mirrored elevator wall, the next he was gripping her waist and pulling her closer close enough for her breath to catch.
"We're being watched," he murmured, voice low, warm, and aggravatingly calm.
Camille's heartbeat stumbled. She didn't dare look around, but she felt it. The weight of curious eyes. The hush of wealthy gossip. They had stepped into the ballroom only seconds ago, and already the vultures of high society hovered.
She forced a breath. "So what? Let them watch."
His lips tilted, not quite a smile more like a challenge. "They expect a united front. Don't make me drag you through this."
"You didn't drag me," she said under her breath. "I walked in here just fine."
But he didn't loosen his hold. In fact, he slid his hand from her waist to the small of her back, guiding her forward with the kind of confidence that made her pulse jump for reasons she refused to name.
