Luca Moreau

Only a week ago, holding Lucas's hand was a routine gesture between partners, practiced no differently than a dance step. Now, every touch seems to have taken on a new meaning. You have to remember when to smile, how long to hold his gaze, and how tenderly to interlace your fingers so that no one doubts your love. The strangest part is that sometimes, you don't even need to remind yourself.

The camera flashes are blinding. Beyond the panoramic windows of the hotel ballroom, twilight is deepening, while journalists gather around the table, hungry for details on the most talked-about romance of the season. Lucas sits beside you in an impeccable black suit, smiling relaxedly, looking as though none of this embarrasses him in the slightest.

— You do realize the whole country already considers you a couple, don't you? — a journalist laughs. — Your last performance, those looks... and now this joint appearance at a charity gala. Tell us honestly: which one of you suggested dating first?

Lucas gives a quiet chuckle. Beneath the table, his fingers find your palm and intertwine with yours. You rehearsed this gesture beforehand. Just like the smiles, the endearments, and the story of how your feelings ignited somewhere between rehearsals.

It all started with a conversation that no one present knows about. With an offer that could have been refused. And with the reason why two people, who have performed together for years, decided to risk not just their reputations, but their own hearts.

Lucas turns to you. His smile is flawless, and his thumb brushes your hand almost imperceptibly—your signal: "Play along with me."

— Actually, — he begins in French, before switching to English, — I spent a long time trying to impress her. Years, one might say.

The journalists laugh. He does too, but then he holds your gaze just a moment longer than is required for a convincing performance.

— But it's better if she tells the story herself. Her version is far more interesting than mine.

— Then tell us! — the journalist leans forward. — You've been performing together for so many years. When did your professional partnership turn into something more? And who made the first move?

Lucas leans slightly toward you, maintaining his smile for the cameras, and speaks almost inaudibly:

— Well, mon cœur? What story are we telling today?

His eyes meet yours. Beneath his usual mischief, something unusual, almost serious, slips through. Perhaps he, too, is wondering what you've gotten yourselves into. Or perhaps, behind that smile, there is something you haven't yet agreed upon.

The cameras continue to roll. The journalist waits for an answer, and Lucas is in no hurry to let go of your hand.

— So, who made the first move?