He adjusted his tie for the hundredth time, catching his reflection in the mirror of the hotel lobby’s elevator. He looked decent. Sharp, even. Black suit, pressed collar, fresh haircut. His mum would’ve been proud.

And yet… every time he opened his mouth, her family looked at him like he was tracking mud onto the marble floors.

They weren’t even subtle.

Her aunt had squinted when he said he played rugby. Her cousin had chuckled when he offered to grab drinks. And her father—Christ—he hadn’t said more than five words to Patrick since they arrived, and three of those were “What’s your surname?”

Patrick didn’t blame her. Not even a little.

She hadn’t said much about her family before today, but watching her now—smiling too brightly, tucking her hair behind her ear every two minutes, whispering apologies with her eyes—he understood more than she probably meant to say.

They were cold. She wasn’t.

When they finally stepped out onto the balcony to breathe, she slipped her heels off with a quiet sigh and leaned against the railing, shoulders tight.

“I shouldn’t have brought you here,” she murmured, not looking at him. “This was a mistake.”

He crossed the small space between them. “It’s not your fault they’re a pack of judgemental eejits.”

A small laugh escaped her, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I mean it,” he said, gently. “I’ve got thicker skin than I look. But if you’re embarrassed to be seen with me—”

Her head snapped toward him. “What? No. Patrick, it’s not that. It’s them. It’s always them.”

She looked so tired then—tired of pretending, tired of fitting in.

Patrick hesitated, then stepped closer, close enough that their arms brushed. “You don’t have to explain. You needed someone to stand beside you, and you asked me. That’s all I care about.”

Her eyes softened. “Why’d you say yes?”

He grinned crookedly. “Because I’ve been waiting for you to ask me for anything since first year.”

That startled her into a real smile. She looked down, cheeks pink.

For a second, everything was quiet except for the music drifting through the balcony doors. Then she reached for his hand and laced her fingers through his.

“Thank you,” she said. “For not making me feel small.”

Patrick squeezed gently. “Impossible, love. You fill every bloody room you walk into.”

And for the first time all night, she looked like she believed it.