So tonight will count as our public debut. I’ll meet his colleagues and the industry professionals he knows. There may be photographers. For the first time, we’ll look like a real couple. The charity gala isn’t just a fancy date night. If it goes well, it’s one more significant step toward my plan working out. If it goes poorly—I don’t want to think about it.

The Uber rolls to a stop outside a sprawling building tucked underneath the 59th Street Bridge. The façade is decorated with soaring granite arches. Soft amber light glows through the windows. I sweep the full length of my gown carefully out of the car and take a deep breath before starting down the stately brick path that will lead me inside.

“Walking in,” I text Blake.

“I’ll come meet you,” he writes back.

He pushes open the glass double doors before I can reach the building. The tux is the first thing I see, and it’s like he was born to wear it. The second thing I see is his smile—crinkly-eyed and genuine.

“You look so beautiful,” he calls down the path.

I can’t help but blush. His compliment gives me butterflies. My heel hits a slightly raised piece of brick and I trip, catching myself before I do anything too embarrassing.

“Uh, hello!” I say, gesturing to his tux. “You don’t look too bad, yourself.”

Eye contact feels too intense during my last few steps to close the gap between us, and I let my gaze drift over his shoulder into the throng of people inside. When I finally reach him, he plants his hands on my hips and draws me in close for a kiss. I try to strike the right balance between leaning into the kiss and not letting my lipstick smudge. As we part, he runs his fingers appreciatively over the watch on my wrist.

“You wore it,” he says, clearly proud.

“Of course, I did. Thank you so much. I was so surprised!”

“I thought it’d be fun to surprise you at work.”

“You like doing that, don’t you?”

“Gotta keep a girl on her toes,” he says, taking my hand and leading me into the venue.

If only he knew. I’m on my toes so often around him, I might as well be wearing pointe shoes.

Gustavino’s is equally stunning on the inside. The ceiling is an undulating sea of tiled arches held up by stately pillars. Impressive white floral centerpieces top each table. The crowd is full of elegant tuxes and shimmery, silky, saturated gowns. Blake confidently leads me toward a cluster of people near the bar.

“Mind if I introduce you to a few people?” he asks.

“Sure,” I say, hoping he can’t feel how clammy my hands have become.