Calliope smiled at Nathaniel. She ran her fingers along his cheek as they softly swayed to the music. His hands were on her ass, but she couldn’t fault him for the grope. “Try saying it again,” she instructed quietly, “Je veux t'embrasser. Français comes from the lips. Je... veux... t’embrasser.” She had been so wrapped up in Nate for most of the night that she had forgotten about her actual date, but she knew Mirela preferred it that way. Little Dove enjoyed her freedom.