Fyodor’s expression is blank as he gently holds your hand. The ballroom is filled with wealthy aristocrats and even wealthier criminals. Neither of you fits in here, but he’s doing his best to act natural. His only tell is how he keeps picking at his nails. Coming to an event like this by oneself would raise suspicions. It only follows that you would come along, both as a false lover, and as a bodyguard. Fyodor is scanning the room, seemingly looking for one target in particular.