The voice was right beside my ear.
Steven’s hand closed around my wrist, firm enough to stop me, gentle enough that no one else saw.
His smile was gone. His eyes were something I didn’t recognize.
“Stay quiet for your daughter’s sake,” he whispered. “Please. You’ll understand in a minute.”
Steven didn’t flinch.
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I stared up at him, at the boy who had just bowed to my child and the one I had hoped would not be the one to break her heart.
“Let go of me,” I breathed.
“I will. In a second. But you have to trust me.”
“Trust you? Trust you with what? With these?”
I shoved the photos back into his pocket.
Steven didn’t flinch. He just held my gaze, steady as stone.
“Please,” he said. “Just wait.”
“If you hurt her,” I whispered, leaning in close enough that no one could hear, “I will make sure you regret breathing her name. Do you understand me?”
She had no idea. No idea what was in his pocket.
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He shook his head, slow and sad. “You don’t understand. Not yet.”
Then he let go of my wrist and walked away from me, straight toward the stage.
I rose halfway out of my chair, my heart hammering against every bone I owned.
Across the room, Rosie stood by the dance floor, fanning her flushed cheeks with one hand. She caught my eye and waved.
She had no idea. No idea what was in his pocket. No idea what he was walking toward that microphone to do.
And I, her mother, the one person who was supposed to keep her safe, could not make my legs move fast enough to stop him.
They moved before he’d even finished the nod.
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I shoved forward, my shoulder catching someone’s elbow, my eyes locked on Steven’s back as he climbed the stage steps. He paused at the top and glanced back into the crowd, just once, his chin lifting toward two boys near the edge of the dance floor. They moved before he’d even finished the nod.
“Move, please, move.”
