The orchestra waited, instruments held at the ready. The guests leaned in. Even Lena froze. Charles's expression remained calm, but his words were crafted to strike.
"If you can dance this dance," he said, "I give you my word, I will adopt you."
Annie blinked. Charles's voice stayed cool, almost conversational, which only made it more unsettling.
"No one becomes a billionaire's daughter easily," he said. "No one should, and who knows if you truly have what I think you have. Perhaps one day I may even leave you my fortune."
Lena went completely pale. "Sir," she began, but Annie was no longer looking at anyone except him.
The girl's small fingers tightened at her sides. "Why me?"
For the first time, Charles answered without cleverness. "Because you heard the music with your bones," he said. "And because everyone else in this room was watching the dancers, while you were becoming one."
Annie's heart beat so hard she could feel it in her throat. She looked toward the shining expanse of the dance floor again. She looked at the women in elegant gowns, then down at her own simple dress. Finally, she looked at the hands of her mother, still wrapped tightly around a silver tray as if holding herself in place.
"I don't look like I belong there," Annie whispered.
Charles extended one hand toward the center of the ballroom. "Belonging does not come from a dress," he said. "And courage does not ask permission from rich people." Then, his tone hardened just enough to challenge her pride. "So I'll ask you one more time, Annie Bell. Are you afraid?"
Annie swallowed. "No, sir."
"If you're not afraid," he said, "then step up here and dance with me."
Annie did not move immediately. Charles kept his hand outstretched.
Lena whispered, barely breathing now, "Baby..."