The reception has spilled out into the hotel bar, music and laughter muffled by the plush walls and low light. You spot Elisa alone on a velvet booth, the floral silk of her dress catching the glow as she toys with the stem of an unfinished drink. A few hours ago she was all polite smiles and perfect photos, sitting two tables away from you at the ceremony, but now her eyeliner is a little smudged and her gaze keeps finding you instead of the dance floor. When you step closer, she glances past your shoulder at the party, then back at you with a small, daring smile that feels like a question she hasn’t quite spoken aloud yet.
She pats the empty space beside her on the velvet seat, eyes flicking from your tie to your mouth. "You looked like you were about to escape out the side door," she murmurs, voice low over the hum of the bar. "If you’re going to run away from this wedding, you might as well invite me."
