Bound to my Enemy novel Chapter 52

Chapter 52: Chapter 52.

Elaine’s POV.

Zane disappears sometime after most of the formalities end.

He just slips away, jacket in hand, murmuring something to some man equally as tall as him. They head toward the balcony doors together, and before I can even think about whether I care, they’re gone.

I tell myself I don’t.

I stay where I am, near the bar, fingers curled around the stem of my glass. It’s something light, something citrusy without apple anywhere near it again. The women around me are already deep into conversation, a loose circle of wives who’ve known each other long enough to speak freely.

They’re warm, curious and assessing.

"So....." one of them says, smiling politely at me and leaning in. "How are you holding up?"

I shrug lightly. "Well I’m surviving."

That earns a few laughs.

Another woman leans closer. "He’s really intense, your husband."

That’s one word for it.

"I’ve noticed," I say.

They talk about the venue, the flowers, the inconvenience of the postponed reception, how unfortunate it all was. I nod in the right places, sip my drink, listen more than I speak. I’m good at this part. I’ve been trained my whole life to be agreeable without being revealing.

The Music shifts....

The band starts something slower, smoother. A ripple moves through the room as couples begin to gather themselves, husbands appearing at their wives’ sides asking for a dance.

The women straighten, smiles sharpening. One by one, they’re claimed.

I’m still alone when the first song reaches its chorus.

I glance toward the balcony without meaning to.

Zane isn’t back yet.

Good it’s not like I want him to dance with me or anything like that.

I take another sip, letting the glass rest against my lower lip longer than necessary.

A light tap lands on my shoulder.

I turn, already prepared with a polite smile that freezes when I see who it is.

He’s tall. Not Zane-tall, but close enough. Dark hair, loosened tie, eyes bright with amusement . He looks... easy.

"Hi Elaine," he says, offering a hand. "I’m Donald."

Recognition clicks.....The groomsman, Zane’s friend. The one who vanished with him to the balcony.

"Nice to finally meet you," I reply, taking his hand.

"Likewise," he says. "I’ve heard you’re surviving the evening better than most would."

"Is that what he said?" I ask.

Donald grins. "He didn’t say much at all."

That tracks.

We exchange small talk, the harmless kind. He asks about the ceremony. I ask how long he’s known Zane. He gives me a vague answer that says years without specifying how many. There’s laughter between us real laughtet.

Then he glances toward the dance floor.

"Would you do me the honor," he says, mock-formal, "of being yoru first dance of the night?"

I hesitate for half a second.

Then I nod. "Sure."

He leads me out easily, one hand warm and steady at my back. No tension. No possessiveness. Just... movement

We fall into step without effort.

Donald dances well, impressesivelt well. Like he enjoys it rather than tolerates it. He spins me once, gentle, controlled, and I laugh despite myself.

"There it is," he says. "That laugh."

"What about it?"

"It’s louder than I expected," he says. "Zane said you’re quieter."

"Zane doesn’t lnow me very well."

That earns a bark of laughter from him, loud enough to turn a few heads.

We talk as we dance. About nothing important in particular, about music, about how ridiculous formal events can be. He tells me a story about Zane refusing to dance at a charity gala once and bribing the band to take a break.

I laugh again, louder this time.

And for a few minutes, I forget where I am.

Forget who I married and why

Forget the weight of the ring on my finger.

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