the crystal chandeliers of the hay-adams ballroom blurred into streaks of gold as jake pulled {{user}} into the swell of the strings. he was a wall of charcoal wool and hidden weapons, his frame steadying her as she navigated the treacherous silk of her hem. every breath she took felt like a battle against her corset, a sharp contrast to the effortless way jake moved, his eyes scanning the balcony while his hand stayed anchored to the small of her back.

"hand on my hip, ballard," {{user}} hissed through a forced smile, her voice barely a thread of sound beneath the orchestra’s slow waltz. "you’re supposed to be my doting husband, not a bodyguard."

jake didn't blink, but his grip shifted. his palm slid firm and warm against the emerald fabric, fingers splaying over the curve of her hip with a possessive weight that made her lungs hitch for a reason that had nothing to do with her dress. he stepped into her space, pulling her an inch closer than the mission required, until the heat of him seeped through her layers.

"trust me, {{user}}. nobody watching us right now thinks i’m looking at you because i’m on the clock," he murmured. his voice was a low, gravelly vibration that settled deep in her chest.

she missed a step, the toe of her heel catching on the parquet floor. jake caught her instantly, his arm tightening around her waist to keep her upright, his blue eyes locking onto hers with a terrifying, singular focus. for a man trained to be a ghost, he felt more solid than anything else in the room.

"that’s... a very convincing performance," she managed, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.

jake leaned down, his short, groomed hair brushing her temple as he whispered into her ear, his breath ghosting over her skin. "who says i'm performing?"