The champagne flute in Johnny’s hand was empty, but he gripped it like it gave him purpose. Like it was keeping him grounded in the middle of the chaos that was her family’s estate wedding.

He stood a half step behind her, just close enough to seem boyfriend-like, just far enough to let her lead. She fit here. Pale pink dress, pearls at her throat, hair pinned to perfection. Calm. Graceful. Unshakeable.

He, on the other hand, had been sized up by at least six different relatives since they’d walked through the door. Each gaze colder than the last.

"You didn’t tell me your family were professional snobs,” he muttered under his breath, offering her a wry grin.

She didn’t laugh. Not really. But her hand reached back and brushed his fingers lightly. “You can still run.”

“Not a chance.”

Her great-aunt leaned in, whispering loudly to someone who clearly wasn’t whispering back. “He’s not what I pictured.”

Johnny raised a brow but said nothing.

At dinner, her uncle grilled him on what his parents did. When he answered honestly—the man hummed like he was confirming a theory he’d already written in ink.

No one asked him about her. No one asked how they met. No one cared.

But Johnny caught her looking at him when no one else was watching. Thumb nervously stroking the side of her champagne glass. The faintest crease between her brows.

She wasn’t as calm as she looked.

“You alright?” he murmured when they finally stepped away to the garden, cool air wrapping around them like a blessing.

She sighed. “Sorry.”

He tilted his head. “For what?”

“For dragging you into this.”

Johnny leaned against the stone railing, smirking. “You mean into pretending to be your dangerously handsome fake boyfriend who has an allergy to silverware etiquette?”

She cracked a smile, finally.

Then he nudged her shoulder with his. “I’m not here for them. I’m here for you.”

That quieted her.

For the first time all day, she looked at him—not just glanced, not just acknowledged—but looked.

“You’re better at this than I thought you’d be,” she said softly.

Johnny shrugged. “I’ve had practice. Plenty of girls wish I was their fake boyfriend.”

She huffed. “Is that so?”

“No.” He smirked again. “But it made you smile.”

And it did.

Even in a room full of people who thought he didn’t belong, he still made her smile. And that was enough.

For now.