Dinner is another production. We're seated at a head table on a raised platform, displayed for everyone to gawk at. My parents are to one side and every now and then I catch Mom's or Dad’s eye and they give me an encouraging smile, but I can see how out of place they both feel.
The food comes in waves—course after course. I pick at each dish, too aware of everyone watching to actually eat.
"You need to eat something." Alex's voice is low, surprisingly gentle. His hand finds mine under the table, just for a moment, and the contact sends electricity up my arm.
I look at him and there is some concern in his eyes. It’s the first time I’ve seen him look at me like I’m a human being.
"I'm fine."
"You're shaking."
I look down. He's right. My hand trembles as I reach for my water glass.
Before I can respond, someone taps on a glass, the ringing sound calling for attention. A man I don't recognize stands, champagne raised.
"A toast!" he announces. "To Alexander, who's finally been caught!"
Laughter ripples through the crowd.
"We thought this day would never come," the man continues. "Leave it to the Bureau to succeed where dozens of omegas failed!"
More laughter. My cheeks burn. Dozens? Really? I’m not naive. I know he’s not a virgin, but dozens?
I glance at him. Alex's jaw tightens but he raises his glass. Under the table, his knee presses against mine—whether in comfort or by accident, I can't tell, but I don't pull away.
More toasts follow. Each one a thinly veiled joke about Alex's reputation, about how I must be special to have "tamed the beast," about whether the compatibility rating accounts for alcohol tolerance.
They're all laughing at us. At him. At me.
"I need air," I whisper, and start pushing back my chair. I’m halted by a strong hand on my thigh.
"You can't leave,” Alex says to me, his breath hot on my skin. “Not with everyone watching. Just smile and pretend you don’t give a shit. That’s how I do it. Besides, we’re about to have the first dance."
The first dance.
I forgot about that. There’s a last crude anecdote from the man at the microphone to which I see my father visibly flinch even as the crowd roars with laughter.
My stomach drops as someone dims the lights, and a spotlight appears on the empty dance floor.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the bandleader announces, "please welcome Mr. and Mr. Colborne for their first dance!"
Alex stands, offering me his hand. I take it because what else can I do? He smells like pure heaven, exactly what the devil would smell like.
I am married. I am actually married. I still haven’t had time to let it sink in.
The music starts. It’s slow and romantic and makes my chest ache. Alex pulls me onto the dance floor, one hand at my waist, the other holding mine. We're close but not quite touching.
"I don't really know how to dance," I admit.
"Just follow my lead. And try not to step on my feet. Imagine how that’ll play in the papers."
I want to be offended but there's something in his tone, not quite teasing but not cruel either. Like we're in on the same joke.
He leads me through the steps, surprisingly graceful. This close, I can see the gray flecks in his eyes, the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks. He's unfairly beautiful.
"Everyone's watching," I murmur.
"Well, duh." His hand tightens on my waist, pulling me incrementally closer. The movement makes our bodies align perfectly, and I can feel the heat of him through both our suits. "We're the entertainment."
