Page 17 of Milk For The Billionaire's Little

James stood just inside the entrance, taking it all in. I reached for his hand and felt his fingers twitch with nerves before relaxing into mine.

“You okay with people seeing us?” he asked.

“More than.” I gave his hand a squeeze. “Are you?”

He nodded but didn’t speak.

“We can leave whenever you want,” I added. “Or fake a call and pretend it’s an emergency.”

“Tempting,” he murmured. “But I’ll be okay with you by my side.”

My heart soared at the trust he was affording me.

I led him onto the floor, not straight to the dance floor, but along the outer edges where conversation was quieter. People nodded in my direction, not completely sure it was me, thanks to my mask. Their eyes were on me and on my hand joined with his. I got more than a few approving nods.

Good. I personally didn’t care about their approval, but this was James’s first time at such an event and I wanted it for him. He deserved a night where he didn’t have to explain who he was or what he wanted. Where he could justbe.

We took flutes of champagne, and I steered us toward one of the quieter balconies for a few minutes to breathe. But James leaned in, his shoulder brushing mine.

“You want to dance?” he asked suddenly, eyes flicking toward the floor.

I blinked. “With everyone watching?”

He gave a half-smile. “Isn’t that the point of a masquerade? Not to care who’s watching?”

He had a point.

We returned to the ballroom, and I held out my hand in invitation to dance as we reached the dance floor. He took it without hesitation, just as the music shifted into a slow waltz.

It started simply enough, hands, steps, rhythm. I could feel him figuring it out in real time. He wasn’t bad, not at all. I half wondered if they did fun dance nights at the nursing home he ran. I knew they did bingo. All of them did.

He let me lead, but not because he didn’t know how—because hewantedto.

Around us, couples swirled. Masks flashed. Dresses twirled. And still, the world shrank to just us.

“Is this your thing?” he asked softly. “Fancy parties and secret dances?”

“It used to be,” I said. “Now I mostly show up because people expect me to.”

“Do you like it?”

“I likethis.” My eyes held his. “Dancing with you.”

He flushed, a slow pink blooming across his cheeks. “Smooth.”

“I’ve had practice.”

“You’re not so different from me, you know,” he said, his voice dropping lower as we turned.

I arched a brow. “No?”

“No. You think I’m some sort of innocent, wide-eyed Little, and maybe I am sometimes, but you, you’re just as careful. Just as good at hiding.”

“Maybe we’re both better at showing up when we’re behind masks.”

He didn’t answer. Just leaned his cheek against mine briefly as the music swelled. I caught a whiff of his shampoo, all minty.

The song ended. Another began, slower this time. I didn’t let go of him. He didn’t pull away. We didn’t talk. Just moved to the music, our bodies close.

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