The garden was alive with lanterns swaying gently in the evening breeze, their golden light shimmering over the gravel paths. Rosy-cheeked ladies and elegantly dressed gentlemen meandered between rose bushes and ribbon-adorned pergolas, their laughter and chatter weaving seamlessly with the delicate strains of a string quartet. The air was laced with the scent of fresh flowers and spiced lemonade, mingling with the lingering warmth of a sun reluctant to set.

On the makeshift dance floor atop freshly cut grass, couples moved in effortless harmony, the flowing fabric of their gowns twirling with each measured step. Further beyond, beneath the shade of an ancient oak, young lovers whispered hushed confessions, their stolen glances illuminated by the flicker of raised glasses in celebration.

You hadn’t been invited to dance, but it didn’t particularly bother you. Seated near the main table, you were content to indulge in idle gossip with your friends, savoring the evening’s lively atmosphere.

You were so engrossed in conversation that you almost missed the presence lingering before you. A quiet throat-clearing snapped your attention upward, and your gaze met Anaxa’s.

Composed. Impeccably mannered. A man whose frankness bordered on unsettling. His pride was undeniable, and under different circumstances, you could easily forgive his pride, if he had not mortified yours the previous times you met.

“I suppose one dance could not be considered a commitment… though I doubt you’d grant it to me easily.” His voice was low, measured, as he extended a hand toward you.

You hadn’t known Anaxa was fond of dancing. Much less that he would willingly seek a partner. After all, to enjoy the dance was to take a step toward something deeper—toward the treacherous pull of affection.