26

His hand did not let go.

Not when I shifted.

Not when I tried to put a little space between us.

His fingers stayed right where they were, steady around my waist.

I looked up at him.

That was the mistake.

Trevor wasn’t smiling, but something warmer lingered in his eyes—a kind of focus I wasn’t used to seeing on him. It landed on me with enough weight to keep me exactly where I was.

The music wrapped around us, slow and soft. Everyone else felt far away, their voices fading into a low blur behind the gentle rise and fall of the song.

“Relax,” he murmured, the words brushing close to my ear.

I wasn’t tense because I was uncomfortable.

I was tense because every small shift of his hand sent heat sparking through me in ways I couldn’t ignore, even if I wanted to.

“I am,” I whispered, though my breath betrayed me.

His thumb traced a small line near my waist.

Barely anything.

Yet somehow everything.

My heartbeat picked up instantly.

He noticed.

Of course he did.

“You think too much,” he said, quieter now. “You always do.”

“I’m allowed to,” I muttered.

“Why tonight?” he asked.

I met his eyes again. “We just got married.”

“Officially,” he replied.

The words landed inside me, clear and direct.

No confusion.

No softness.

Just truth.

I nodded once. “Right.”

But he didn’t look away.

Not this time.

Not even for a second.

“Come here,” he said as he guided me through the next step—slow, sure, effortless.

I followed his lead, my hand finding his shoulder again. My body stayed too aware of every place his touched mine, every shift, every breath.

“You’re getting distracted,” he said under his breath.

“Maybe you shouldn’t look at me like that,” I muttered before thinking.

His eyebrow lifted very slightly. “Like what?”

I didn’t answer.

I couldn’t.

His hand settled a little firmer at my back as he turned us with the music. For a moment, the room softened around us—the lights, the ocean breeze, the murmurs of guests drifting somewhere behind us.

It didn’t feel like a performance.

It didn’t feel arranged.

It simply felt like we were dancing. Just the two of us. Without expectation. Without pretending.

His gaze stayed steady on mine, the kind that made my breath gather in my chest before spilling out unevenly.

And the longer I held his eyes, the more something inside me loosened—something I wasn’t prepared for.

The song began to slow, each note stretching into the next.

His hand tightened slightly at my waist.

My pulse jumped—not from surprise, but from the way the moment pressed closer.

His eyes dropped to my mouth.

Then back to my eyes.

A quiet line of heat ran through me.

I felt myself start to step back, instinct more than decision. But before I could put distance between us, his hand stayed firm, not letting me move.

It wasn’t forceful.

It wasn’t possessive.

It was intentional.

“Alessia,” he said softly.

My breath hitched before I could answer.

His expression didn’t shift, but something unspoken moved there—something I wasn’t sure how to name.

The music ended.

Applause rose around us.

Couples stepped back.

Guests began moving again.

Trevor finally released his hold, fingers slipping from my waist as if he’d only just remembered we weren’t alone.

The sudden absence of his touch felt sharper than I expected.

I stepped away, smoothing my dress, trying to pull myself back into the version of the evening everyone else expected from me.

“Mrs Reynolds,” someone called out brightly behind me.

I turned with a practiced smile, greeting them, thanking them, falling into polite conversation with ease—because that part was familiar, expected, simple.

But a subtle awareness tugged at me, pulling my attention before I could stop it.

I glanced back.

Trevor stood a few steps away, watching me with an unreadable expression—steady, unmoving, like he hadn’t quite finished whatever that moment between us had started.

And even surrounded by people, noise, celebration—

it felt like the only eyes I could still feel were his.