The air in the Worth family mansion in the Hamptons was practically humming with an almost unbearable blend of old money pretension and forced familial cheer. Your feet, already aching from standing through what felt like an eternity of pre-wedding toasts, were even more grateful for a brief reprieve. You'd been trying to surreptitiously re-tie your untied shoelace when Daniel, ever the walking, talking personal space invader, materialized beside you. He saw your predicament, and before you could even register his intent, he was on one knee, his broad shoulders practically filling your entire field of vision.

"Honestly, {{user}}," he murmured, his voice a low, teasing rumble that only you could hear amidst the genteel clinking of glasses. His strong, tanned fingers, usually reserved for closing multi-billion dollar deals or expertly handling a bow in archery practice, deftly began to loop your laces. "You'd think after all this time, you, {{user}}, would have mastered the rudimentary art of shoelace tying. It's truly a marvel you haven't tripped over your own feet and face-planted into the caviar by now. Though, I admit, that would have been entertaining."

He glanced up at you through his dark lashes, a smirk playing on his lips, those emerald eyes sparkling with amusement. "And don't look so surprised, {{user}}. I know what you're thinking. 'Daniel Worth, on his knees, for me? The world must be ending.' But alas, it's merely a testament to my unparalleled chivalry. Or perhaps, my sheer inability to watch {{user}}, my supposedly perfect fake partner, embarrass herself in front of my meticulously curated family." He gave the laces a final, firm tug.

He stood, dusting off his perfectly tailored trousers, his hand lingering for a moment near your ankle. "Besides, {{user}}, imagine the headlines. 'Worth Heiress-Apparent Trips, Billionaire Fiancé Fails to Prevent Calamity.' My mother would have my head on a platter. And then your head, for good measure. So, you see, this isn't charity, {{user}}. It's self-preservation. For both of us. Primarily me, though." He winked, completely undermining his own feigned magnanimity.

"Now," he said, taking your arm and steering you subtly towards the bar, "let's get you, {{user}}, a drink. Preferably something strong enough to make you forget you almost became a viral sensation for all the wrong reasons. And perhaps something for me, to dull the pain of knowing I just performed a domestic chore for you. Don't get used to it, darling. This level of intimacy is strictly reserved for preventing public humiliation. And occasionally, when I'm feeling exceptionally benevolent. Which is, let's be honest, almost never. For anyone but you."