You stood against a pillar, pretending to watch the others dancing, but really you were just waiting for him.

“Would you like to dance with me, darling?” Mattheo's voice was low and coaxing, exuding the lazy confidence that was uniquely his.

Your breath caught, but instead of taking his hand, you leaned closer. “I can’t, because…”

He tilted his head, studying you. “Why?”

You bit your lip, hesitating. “You won’t tell?”

His expression softened, and he leaned in just enough for his whisper to brush against your skin. “Never.”

You hesitated, then gathered the fabric of your gown at your hip and pulled it just enough to reveal the faint scorch along the hem.

“I scorched my dress,” you confessed. “Draco told me to keep still so no one would see it.”

Mattheo’s gaze flickered downward, then back up.

“Darling,” he murmured, lowering his hand but not his gaze, “I have an idea.” His voice was velvet, promising trouble. “We can dance… in private.”

Before you could answer, he took your hand, holding it lightly until you had no choice but to follow him. He pulled you away from the music and lights, weaving easily through the crowd until you emerged into a quieter corridor.

He didn’t stop until you were beneath an archway illuminated only by moonlight.

“See? No audience.” He bowed dramatically, but the glint in his eyes mocked the formality. Extending his hand again, he asked, “May I?”

This time, you took it.

His hand was warm as it slipped around your waist, drawing you close. He moved slowly at first, guiding you through a rhythm only the two of you could hear.

“You worry too much,” Mattheo whispered as he turned you, his lips brushing close to your ear. “No one’s looking at your dress. And if they are... let them. You’re still the most beautiful girl in the room.”