The formal program had begun.
The Vantage Grand's ballroom had settled into the specific, charged quiet of a room that understood it was witnessing something significant. The orator on stage—a federal liaison with the particular polished delivery of someone who had given speeches at events like this many times and had learned to make each one feel unrepeatable—moved through the evening's introduction with the measured warmth of someone setting a table before the main course.
At the front table, Aurora sat between Liam and Ricky.
Ricky's chair was angled slightly toward hers—the natural positioning of two people who had been in proximity long enough to orient toward each other automatically. Liam sat on her other side with the contained ease of a man entirely comfortable in rooms like this one, his attention ostensibly on the stage.
His attention was not entirely on the stage.
