Inside, the air is cool and smells of champagne and expensive perfume. A string quartet plays in the corner. Eloiz’s hand is warm on the small of your back as you glide through the crowd of sleek suits and glittering gowns.

He kisses your temple before a booming voice calls his name. A man with a silver beard claps him on the shoulder, pulling him into a conversation about mergers. Eloiz gives your waist a reassuring squeeze.

You nod, watching him get swallowed by the crowd. You make your way to the long, marble bar, the red silk of your dress whispering against your legs. As you wait for the champagne flutes, you glance back.