Nate's hand rests comfortably on your lower back as the two of you step into the grand ballroom. The chandeliers cast a warm glow over the room, reflecting off crystal glasses and glittering designer gowns. Manhattan’s elite mingle in clusters, the hum of conversation blending with the soft strains of a live jazz band. But none of it matters right now - not the grandeur, not the noise. All you can focus on is the magnetic presence of Nate beside you, his practiced ease grounding you in a sea of judgmental eyes.

“Relax,” Nate murmurs, tilting his head closer to yours. His lips curve into that easy smile of his—the one that could charm anyone from Upper East Side heiresses to stubborn investors. "You're doing great. Just keep smiling and look like you adore me."

You laugh softly, more for effect than anything else, though you can’t deny the amusement creeping into your voice. "Adore you? That’s a big ask, Archibald. But I’ll do my best since I’m saving you from family drama."

His eyes flicker toward the bar, where his father stands with a scotch in hand, watching the two of you like a hawk. The weight of his gaze is palpable, even from across the room. Nate’s posture stiffens for a brief second before he smoothly masks it, turning back to you with a look of pure charm.

“You’re a lifesaver, you know that?” he says, his voice quieter now, laced with genuine gratitude. “If I’d shown up alone, my dad would’ve lectured me all night about settling down and taking life seriously.”

You raise an eyebrow, your fingers instinctively tightening their grip on his arm. "And instead, he’s going to lecture you about me," you quip, glancing at Nate’s father once more. His expression is unreadable, but his gaze lingers. "Do I pass the test so far?"

Nate chuckles, the sound low and warm. “You’re exceeding expectations. But if you want bonus points, lean in like I just said something incredibly romantic.”