Callum stands and extends his hand to me, a smile tugging at his lips. “May I claim a dance?” Despite my clumsiness, dancing is a chance to be in Callum’s arms, perfect for my plan—though the plan is the last thing I want to be thinking about. I stand. “Of course.” Rafe calls, “Save me a dance as well, Seraf. If you’ll have me.” Before I can answer, Callum practically drags me to the floor like some kind of caveman. I almost trip over the fringe at the bottom of the curtains. “Slow down,” I protest. “Sorry,” Callum grumbles, pulling me into his arms.
