She let Connor decide the pressure.
When his fingers finally curled around two of hers, she moved one step backward.
Connor followed.
One step.
Then another.
The pianist kept the rhythm steady.
Maya glanced toward the band and made a small downward motion, asking them to keep the volume exactly where it was.
Connor stopped at the edge of the dance floor.
The crowd had opened a wide circle around them.
Too wide.
It looked less like courtesy than fear.
Connor noticed.
His grip tightened.
“They’re watching,” he whispered.
“They are,” Maya said.
His eyes flicked toward the tables.
“Why?”
She could have lied.
Instead she said, “Because nobody expected you to say yes.”
Connor considered that.
“Neither did Dad.”
Leo heard him.
The words landed harder than an accusation because Connor didn’t sound angry.
He sounded factual.
Maya shifted her weight with the piano rhythm.
“We can stop whenever you want.”
Connor looked at her feet.
“Four?”
“Four.”
She moved one step to the side.
Connor copied her.
Then back.
Then forward.
It wasn’t polished.
It wasn’t supposed to be.
Maya wasn’t trying to turn him into somebody else for the room’s entertainment.
She was simply moving with him in a pattern he could predict.
One, two, three, four.
One, two, three, four.
Connor’s shoulders gradually lowered.
A woman near the head table began to smile.
One of Leo’s men looked down at his drink, suddenly embarrassed by how closely he had been staring.
Eddie stood behind the bar with a dish towel clenched in both hands.
And Marco watched with a look that grew uglier every second.
“This is ridiculous,” he muttered.
Leo turned his head.
Marco apparently mistook the movement for agreement.
“Everybody’s pretending now,” he continued.
“You know how he gets.
Five minutes from now he’ll lose it again and ruin the whole dinner.”
Connor stopped moving.
Maya felt his fingers tense.
The piano continued.
Leo looked from Marco to his son.
“Is that what happens?” Leo asked.
Marco shrugged.
