Gibsie had worn a tie. An actual tie. Not a clip-on, not a half-hearted knot, but the full-on, “googled how to do it properly in the mirror at 1 a.m.” kind of effort.

He’d shown up early, let her pin a boutonnière to his lapel, and even offered to make awkward small talk with her great-aunt about birds or crosswords or whatever it was posh old people liked.

And still, her uncle had looked at him like he’d tracked mud through a museum.

“They’re not normally this frosty,” she whispered as they sat down for dinner, her voice low enough to blend with the clink of cutlery. “I think they’re just... surprised.”

“That you brought a me?” he muttered, twisting his fork between his fingers.

Her brow creased. “That I brought anyone.”

He glanced around. The white-linen tablecloths, the chandeliers, the place cards in gold script—it all looked like it belonged in a catalogue. Everything pristine. Polished. Tense.

Even her smile was too practiced when someone leaned in to ask how long they’d been together.

“Two months,” she said smoothly.

“Three,” he corrected, because screw it—if they were going to lie, he’d at least get the details right.

She shot him a look under the tablecloth.

Then came the comment from her cousin. The one who leaned back in his chair, took one look at Gibsie’s suit jacket and said, “You wear that to rugby too, or is this your formal track suit?”

Gibsie smiled—wide, bright, cheeky. “Only when I want to outshine the groom.”

A snort left someone two seats down. Her cousin’s smile faltered.

She reached under the table and touched his knee.

“Thank you,” she whispered, barely audible. “You didn’t have to say yes to this.”

Gibsie turned toward her, catching the way her lashes fluttered down like she didn’t want to be seen.

“I did,” he said softly. “You asked.”

For a moment, she just looked at him—like maybe she was seeing him properly for the first time. Like maybe she hadn’t realized how safe he made her feel until right now, with her whole family watching and judging and missing the point entirely.

Then, without warning, she leaned in and pressed her cheek against his shoulder, exhaling like she could finally breathe.

And even with the sharp-edged glares and second-hand cutlery digs, Gibsie grinned.

He could take the heat. He’d take a lot worse—if it meant being her plus-one again.