The moment Alexander's hand settled on my lower back, a jolt of electricity shot through me. It wasn't an unpleasant sensation–quite the opposite, because it made me want to stretch on my tiptoes and kiss him until I was gasping for air. My muscles tensed, and an unnatural rigidity crept into my posture.
The song playing was a slow waltz, a melody that should have evoked a sense of romance. Yet, in Alexander's arms, it felt suffocating.
Every brush of his hand, every fleeting touch, sent shivers down my spine in a way that almost seemed forbidden, like someone was watching us, like I was committing a crime.
I kept my gaze fixed on a point somewhere above his shoulder, desperately trying to avoid eye contact. I feared that if I looked at him, I would crumble, the truth that I was not who he thought I was laid bare in my reflection.
"You were all smiles when you were dancing with George," he remarked, his voice a low rumble in my ear.