The garden had been transformed into a gallery of light. Lanterns glowed like suspended suns, their halos trembling on a faint night breeze, and along the paths low candles burned in glass cups, throwing restless shadows up the trunks of old trees. Somewhere near the terrace a string quartet played a slow, pulsing piece that wrapped itself around the murmuring of the guests.
Damien kept his palm at the small of Maya's back as they stepped onto the lawn, that single point of contact anchoring her as much as it anchored him. The dress she wore shifted under his fingers like water; she held herself with a poise so polished it could have belonged to someone born into this world. Yet beneath his hand he could feel the small, alert movements she never quite stilled. They looked like they belonged together, the cut of his dark suit against the glimmer of her gown, two figures drawn from a single line.
Evelyn moved through the crowd with her fiancé, a champagne flute in one hand, a host's smile in place. Every few steps she cast a glance at Damien and Maya, not intrusive, just the instinctive checking of someone making sure her stage picture still held. She'd chosen the games for tonight herself, something different, something that would keep the couples close and the guests entertained.
At the center of the lawn the couples gathered for the next round. This one had been whispered about all week: sculptor and statue. One partner would stand motionless, eyes closed, while the other "sculpted" them into a new pose -- hands, head, hips, the tilt of the chin -- until the living statue matched whatever shape the sculptor had imagined. The trick was to create something striking without speaking, to guide only with touch. When the music stopped, the statues would open their eyes and hold the pose; the smoothest pair won.
Damien and Maya stepped into their circle. He had decided she would be the statue. She lifted her chin slightly at his look but said nothing, settling her feet shoulder-width apart, eyes closing. The muscles of her arms eased into stillness. Under the warm spill of lantern light she looked carved already -- poised, remote, waiting.
He began slowly, letting his hands hover before touching. His fingers brushed her wrists first, sliding them upward into a gentle curve, adjusting the angle of her elbows. The skin beneath his hands was warm, fine-grained. He moved behind her to shift her shoulders back, thumbs pressing lightly at the base of her neck until her posture opened. A ripple of breath escaped her, the only sign of life.
He circled to the front again, lowering one palm to her waist, easing her a half-step sideways, setting her weight on one hip. His other hand tilted her chin so the lantern light caught her profile. She let him move her, eyes still closed, but he felt the tremor under his palm where her ribs rose and fell. Every contact left a faint echo in him, as though her stillness had become a field of heat.
Around them guests murmured. Couples bent over each other, some laughing, some awkward. Logan stood with Brielle at the edge of the crowd, his gaze fixed not on his own partner but on the way Damien's hands traced lines along Maya's arms, setting her fingers just so, smoothing a stray lock of hair behind her ear to reveal the slope of her throat. Brielle felt each flick of his attention; her grip on his sleeve tightened until her knuckles whitened. She tried to whisper something, a tease to pull him back, but his eyes stayed on the statue in Damien's hands.
Damien crouched to adjust Maya's knees, guiding one leg slightly forward, then rose again, his hands trailing up the curve of her waist until they met at the small of her back. She swayed fractionally and steadied. For an instant he forgot the guests, the music, even the game; all he knew was the pulse beneath his thumbs, the memory of her mouth on his at that party, the way she'd looked up at him afterwards as though he'd caught her off guard. He had built walls around that moment. Here they were crumbling.
The music slowed, then stopped. Maya opened her eyes into the pose he'd built for her -- arms lifted, head turned, body leaning subtly toward him. For a heartbeat they simply looked at each other. His hands were still at her waist. She didn't step back.
Applause rose. Couples broke apart. Damien released her gradually, telling himself he was only being careful. She smoothed her dress, gaze sliding toward the drinks table. He watched her go, something hot and restless moving under his ribs.
When he followed, Logan was already there. He'd slipped away from Brielle with a smile that looked easy but wasn't, and angled himself into Maya's path.
"You need a breather after that?" he asked softly. "There's a quieter spot off the path..."
"I'm fine here." Maya's voice was polite but flat. She reached for a glass without looking at him.
Logan edged closer. "It's crowded. Just a moment..."
"No." She turned slightly, her profile a clear line of refusal.
Across the lawn Brielle's nails pressed crescents into her palm. She could feel the heat of her own jealousy rising as Logan leaned in again, as if the woman on his arm didn't exist.
Damien reached them before Logan could try a third time. He stepped between them without speaking, one arm sliding around Maya's waist, drawing her back against his side with a motion that felt like claiming. His gaze met Logan's -- a flicker of warning without words. Maya's breath hitched against his shoulder. She didn't resist.
Logan straightened, a grin flickering across his face like a mask. "Enjoy the rest of the evening," he murmured, retreating toward Brielle. She caught his arm when he reached her, her smile brittle.
Damien didn't move his hand. He could feel the pulse in her back under his palm, the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric. Every time she looked up at him like this -- poised on the outside, something unguarded flickering underneath -- he felt his grip on himself slip. Since that kiss at the semester's end he'd told himself it had been an accident, a moment to forget. But standing here now, with her leaning into him because she didn't want Logan's attention, he wasn't sure what he was protecting anymore.
Inside the hotel, Evelyn had taken a moment away from the guests to breathe. She leaned against a window frame, her fiancé's arm around her waist, when Helena crossed the room and stopped beside her. The older woman's gaze was fixed on the couple outside.
"She's seamless," Helena murmured.
Evelyn followed her gaze. "She's careful. Damien trusts her."
"No one's that perfect," Helena said softly. "Not for long."
"Let it go," Evelyn whispered. "You're seeing things. You'll only make trouble."
"I'll be discreet," Helena replied, her eyes never leaving the garden. "There are ways to find out who someone really is."
Evelyn turned sharply. "Mother..."
But Helena's mouth curved into the faintest smile. She reached for her phone as she walked away, the glow of the screen lighting her face. Out in the garden, Damien's thumb brushed a slow circle against Maya's hip, and Maya tilted her head back to look at him, the lights reflecting in her eyes. Between the music and the murmurs, something else moved quietly between them, inexorable and unspoken.