The flash of cameras and soft hum of champagne chatter swirled around you. Derek’s hand settled at the small of your back, grounding you like always.

“How are you holding up, sweetheart?” he murmured, his voice a warm rumble against your ear.

You blinked up at him. “What?”

His lips curved. “You’re starting to shift your weight,” he said, eyes flicking to your heels. “Are your feet hurting from the heels?”

You hum, leaning closer to him so no one else could hear. “Slightly, I could go maybe another thirty minutes if I don’t move.”

He smiled—small, knowing, devastating. “Good thing I planned ahead.” His thumb brushed your jaw, his touch impossibly tender amid all the glitter. “There’s a pair of your flats waiting in the car. I’ll sneak you out before the next round of speeches.”

Your chest melted. “You remembered.”

“Of course I did,” he whispered as he squeezed your hip reassuringly.