Garnar and I aren’t the only ones surprised by Miles sudden request. Many of the nearby guests, mostly high society socialites and their eligible daughters, gasp and take more interest in our conversation.
I’m not blind. I’ve seen the way the younger single women at this party have followed Miles around like lost puppies with hearts in their eyes, but so far, he’s denied all of them any extra attention beyond base politeness.
Despite that subtle rejection, it seems as if a line has been forming to try to encourage Miles to dance with them, one at a time.
Yet here he is, extending an invitation to dance with me, a married, older woman, mother of two.
Whispers sound all around us. I can’t properly discern them, but from their sharpness and the way the speakers glare at me, they are clear
