[BL] I Didn't Sign Up For This Chapter 23: In Which I Survive High Society (Barely) II

The reporter released my arm imdiately, stepping back. "Mr. Valek. I was just.."

"Harassing my husband in a bathroom." He moved between us, and suddenly I was behind him, his body blocking from her view. "After he declined to answer your questions, that’s not journalism, that’s harassnt."

"I’m sorry, I was just.."

"You were leaving." It wasn’t a suggestion. "Now, before I have security escort you out and ensure you never gain press access to another event in this city again."

The reporter’s face went pale, she stumbled backward, muttered sothing that might have been an apology, and fled.

Azryth turned to imdiately, his hands on my shoulders. "Are you alright? Did she hurt you?"

"I’m fine, she just grabbed my arm." But I was shaking, from adrenaline, from relief, from the intensity of his concern.

"If she touched you.." His eyes were flickering with actual fla. "I’ll have her credentials revoked, her publication blacklisted, I’ll.."

"Azryth." I put my hand on his chest, feeling his heart racing beneath my palm. "I’m okay, you got here in ti."

He took a breath, then another, the flas in his eyes slowly subsided.

"The binding," he said quietly. "I felt your distress, your fear, I left the table mid-conversation and ran."

He’d run to get to , because the binding let him feel my emotions.

"Thank you," I said.

"You shouldn’t have co alone." His hands slid from my shoulders to cup my face, tilting it up so I had to et his eyes. "You shouldn’t have left my side, these people are vultures, they’ll tear you apart for a story."

"I know, I’m sorry, I just needed a minute."

"No." His voice was rough. "Don’t apologize, this isn’t your fault, this whole situation—the press, the scrutiny, the invasive questions, it’s because of , because I bound you, because I dragged you into this life."

The guilt in his voice was startling, raw and real.

"You also saved my life," I reminded him. "Multiple tis."

"After putting it in danger in the first place."

We were very close, his hands are still on my face, my hand is still on his chest, standing in a bathroom at a charity gala, having what was probably our most honest mont since the binding.

The bathroom door opened, another guest started to enter, saw us, and quickly retreated.

Azryth dropped his hands, stepping back, the mont broken.

"We should return," he said, his voice carefully neutral again. "Before people start speculating about what we’re doing in here."

"Yes, let’s return to the performance."

Sothing flickered across his face. "Is that really what this is to you? A performance?"

The question caught off guard. "Huh? Isn’t it? Isn’t the whole point to convince everyone we’re in love when we’re actually..."

"Actually what, Riven?"

I didn’t know how to finish that sentence, didn’t know what we actually were anymore.

Captor and captive? Demon and unwilling spouse? Two people bound together learning to coexist?

Or sothing more complicated that neither of us wanted to na?

"We should go back," I said, deflecting.

He studied for a long mont, then nodded. "Stay close this ti, please."

The "please" surprised more than anything else could have.

We returned to the ballroom together, Azryth’s hand imdiately found its place on my lower back.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur, dinner (seven courses, I didn’t embarrass myself with the silverware), speeches (boring but rcifully short), and then, inevitably, dancing.

The music shifted to sothing slow and romantic, couples flooded the dance floor.

Azryth stood, offered his hand. "Shall we?"

We’d practiced this, I knew the steps, I could do this.

His hand found my waist, my hand rested on his shoulder. We moved together, and it was easier than it should have been, the binding helped, I realized, it made us instinctively aware of each other’s movents.

"You’re doing well," he said quietly. "Better than well, you’ve handled tonight perfectly."

"Even the reporter incident?"

"That wasn’t your fault." His hand tightened on my waist. "And my response might have been... excessive."

"You were protecting ."

"Yes." He said it simply, like it was obvious. "I will always protect you, regardless of how this binding happened, regardless of whether you wanted it, you’re mine to protect."

The possessiveness should have bothered , should have reminded that this was forced, unwanted, coerced.

But the binding humd warmly, and part of liked being claid, being protected.

Being his.

"We’re being photographed," he murmured, lips close to my ear. "The caras have been on us since we started dancing."

Oh.. performance. This was all performance.

Except when he pulled back slightly, eting my eyes, there was sothing there that looked like more than performance.

"You’re staring," I said quietly.

"You’re worth staring at." He said it so matter-of-factly. "Especially tonight, in that suit, looking at like..."

"Like what?"

"Like maybe this isn’t entirely terrible anymore."

The honesty in his voice made my breath catch.

"Maybe it isn’t," I admitted.

The binding surged between us, warm and intense.

For just a mont, dancing in a room full of strangers, pretending to be in love, neither of us was pretending.

Then the song ended and reality returned.

"We should make our exit soon," Azryth said, his CEO voice returning. "We’ve been seen, we’ve played our part, any longer and we risk fatigue showing."

"Okay."

We made our goodbyes, shook more hands, smiled for more photos, and finally escaped into the waiting limousine.

The mont the door closed, I slumped against the seat, exhausted and overwheld.

"You did remarkably well," Azryth said, loosening his bow tie. "Better than most people would have in that situation."

"I had help from a good partner." I looked at him. "Thank you for tonight, for rescuing , for... everything."

"You’re bound to ." He said it like it explained everything. "Your safety, your comfort and your wellbeing, they’re my responsibility."

The rest of the drive was silent, but comfortable, his hand found mine on the seat between us, and neither of us pulled away.

When we got back to the penthouse, I went straight to my room, exhausted, emotionally drained, confused about everything.

I’d survived the gala, played my part, convinced five hundred people we were in love.

And sowhere in the middle of all that pretending, the line between performance and reality had gotten dangerously blurred.

I changed for bed, fell onto the mattress, and stared at the ceiling.

My phone buzzed.

Azryth: *You were remarkable tonight, rest well.*

I stared at the text, at the simple complint, the care.

: *So were you.*

I set the phone aside, the binding humming contentedly in my chest.

Tomorrow we’d go back to normal, whatever that ant.

But tonight, for just a few hours, we’d been a real couple.

And it hadn’t been entirely terrible.