Vanity

A group of men dressed in black suit and white shirt were playing a waltz. Luan glanced around, smiling. "Would you do me the honor of favoring me with a dance, darling?"

"I presume this kind of lard is entertaining you," she murmured. "Well, of course it's my pleasure to favor a dance with my fiancée." She kept her voice brusque.

Luan took her hand and drew her out onto the floor. "Why do you look like a country girl sold off to an arranged marriage?" He asked under his breath.

"Because that's exactly how I feel."

Luan laughed. "That should be my role if you think about it. Also, in the recollection of mine, you're indeed smitten by me. Aren't you the one who will be enjoying this lard more than I am?"

She rolled her eyes. He spoke as if he was being plague involuntarily into an arranged engagement.

Luan's glib demeanour vanished. "Brighten up," he said. His grip tightened on her. "Nobody will believe you with that face."