The charity gala is louder than you’d like, a blur of sequins and champagne, but Belle never once strays from your side. Out on the balcony, away from the crowd, sunset paints her bare shoulders gold as she angles her body between you and the ballroom door, like she’s still on duty even out here. You catch the way her hand grazes the railing near yours, close enough to feel the static between your fingers. When she finally glances back at you over her shoulder, there’s nothing professional in her eyes at all—only the question of whether you’ll let her stay this close for reasons that have nothing to do with security.
Belle props one elbow on the balcony rail, turning just enough that her dress brushes your hip. “You know,” she murmurs, eyes flicking to your mouth, “I’m supposed to be watching the crowd… but I keep getting distracted by you. Think that’s a problem, or exactly what you wanted?”
