Six

~~Jay~~

I should’ve run. When I was told my father wanted to see me the second time tonight.

I should’ve faked a stomach ache, a migraine, a sudden urge to move to Peru anything.

But instead, here I was, standing in the center of the Hale Ballroom under a literal chandelier the size of a small car, surrounded by champagne-fueled well-wishers.

My father was at my left, Dahlia was at my right, and every camera in the room was aimed at me.

No pressure…

“Smile,” my mother hissed from somewhere behind me.

Right. Smile. Sure.

I also wanted to smile but having Alex staring at me wasn’t helping because it was basically remembering me of the fact that I maybe pregnant.

Because nothing says joy like being surprise-engaged to someone you barely talk to while the guy you actually can’t stop thinking about and may be pregnant for as a man is standing in the crowd, watching you like a slow-motion car crash.

The master of ceremonies cleared his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time to officially seal this union with the exchange of rings.”

Seal this union.

God. Could they make it sound any more like a hostage negotiation?

Dahlia turned to me with this soft, glowing smile like she’d been rehearsing it since birth. Her hand was delicate, nails perfectly painted, a princess straight out of a lifestyle magazine.

And then…

The perfume hit me.

It wasn’t a bad scent expensive, floral, a little powdery. But it slammed into me like a brick wall.

Sweet, suffocating, heady.

It wrapped around me, filling my lungs, and suddenly I was hyper-aware of every breath I took. My stomach turned in warning.

Don’t gag. Don’t gag. Don’t gag.

I forced a deep inhale through my mouth, pretending to smile. My vision wavered for a second, and I prayed no one noticed.

Dahlia extended the ring to me.

My fingers trembled as I took it, sliding it onto her hand like some well-trained royal puppet.

The applause started before I even finished. Then it was her turn.

Her perfume swirled again as she stepped closer, the scent hitting me full force.

I swear my body screamed get me out of here while my brain whispered hold it together.

She slid the ring onto my finger, her touch light, graceful.

The crowd “awwwed.” Cameras flashed. Champagne glasses clinked.

And me? I was seconds away from bolting to the nearest bathroom.

“Perfect,” my father said flatly, clapping me on the shoulder hard enough to make me stumble. “Now smile for the photographers.”

I smiled. Or at least I think I did.

It felt more like baring my teeth.

Somewhere beyond the flashing lights, my eyes caught Alex’s. He was standing near the edge of the crowd, hands in his pockets, looking at me with this unreadable expression.

Concern? Amusement?

Hell if I knew.

All I knew was that in that moment, my chest was tight, my stomach was twisted, and the scent of Dahlia’s perfume was seared into my brain forever.

The night blurred after that congratulations from strangers, a dozen variations of “you two are perfect together,” and my mother’s icy whispers to fix my posture.

By the time I managed to sit down at the long dinner table, I felt like I’d been dragged through a parade I never signed up for.

I caught myself staring at my plate, thinking about how good it would feel to just… breathe.

The long dining table stretched like some medieval feast setup, all crystal glasses, white china, and an army of forks I had no idea how to use.

Dahlia slid gracefully into the chair beside me, her gown pooling like liquid silk, the perfume still hovering like an uninvited ghost.

I took the seat reluctantly, trying to angle my body just enough so I could breathe without inhaling another lungful of her scent.

It didn’t work.

And then I looked up.

Of course.

Alex.

He was directly across from me, elbows resting casually on the table, a wine glass in hand.

No smile. Just… watching.

Like he could see straight through my forced composure, past the engagement ring on my finger, past the fake smiles right into the part of me that was screaming.

I dropped my gaze immediately, focusing on the perfectly folded napkin in my lap as if it held the secrets of the universe.

Small talk buzzed around me business deals, vacations, the weather but all I heard was the pounding in my ears.

My fork trembled slightly when I picked it up, and I prayed no one noticed.

“Everything alright?” Dahlia’s voice was soft, syrupy.

Too sweet.

Like her perfume.

“Yeah,” I said, forcing a smile that felt like chewing glass. “Just a little… tired.”

She gave me a look that was equal parts concern and calculation, like she wasn’t sure if I was about to faint or bolt.

And honestly? Either option sounded good.

The waiters served the first course something fancy and French that looked like it belonged in a jewelry box, not a plate.

I picked at it, my stomach doing slow somersaults.

At one point, my gaze flicked up again and ended up as mistake on my part…

Alex was still watching.

His thumb brushed absently against his wine glass stem, eyes locked on me like he was trying to memorize every twitch of my expression.

And I hated absolutely hated that it made my pulse stutter. For heaven sake he’s a dude…

Dahlia leaned in slightly, her perfume wrapping around me again.

“You’re pale,” she murmured.

I tried to laugh it off. “Chandeliers and champagne aren’t really my natural habitat.”

She smiled politely, but her gaze lingered, like she was filing that information away for later.

Then my father’s voice boomed from the head of the table, launching into some long speech about family alliances, legacy, and how tonight marked “the beginning of a prosperous union.”

Translation: Congratulations, son. You’ve been sold for political leverage.

There was polite laughter. Toasts.

My glass was raised, my name was said more times than I cared to hear.

Through it all, Alex didn’t look away.

And I didn’t dare look back too long, because if I did… I might forget which life I was supposed to be pretending to live tonight.

The clinking of silverware and the hum of polite conversation blurred together into background noise. I was busy trying to survive another wave of Dahlia’s perfume when it happened.

A hand or something else.

Warm. Steady. On my lap.

For a split second, I thought maybe I’d dropped my napkin and a waiter was just being courteous.

But no this wasn’t the impersonal brush of a stranger’s fingertips.

This was deliberate. Confident.

My breath caught.

Slowly too slowly… I lifted my gaze from my plate.

And there he was.

Alex.

Sitting across from me, shoulders loose, wine glass in one hand… the faintest ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips.

The kind of smirk that said, Yeah, I know exactly what I’m doing… and I’m not stopping.

I swallowed hard, my pulse thudding against my throat.

Every sane instinct screamed, Move his foot, Jay. For God’s sake, this is your engagement dinner.

But my body?

My body just… stayed there.

His toes traced a slow, deliberate circle against my thigh beneath the tablecloth.

Heat shot up my spine, flooding my face a sharp mix of panic and… something else I refused to name.

This was insane.

He was literally rubbing his sock-covered foot against my lap, and I was already reacting like

Get a grip, Jay. You’re a man. Damn it.

I shifted in my chair, praying Dahlia or my father didn’t notice the stiffness in my posture.

Alex’s smirk deepened, his gaze locking with mine like there was no one else in the room.

He didn’t look away.

Not when Dahlia leaned in to whisper something in my ear.

Not when my father raised his glass for a toast.

Not even when I mouthed a desperate stop it across the table.

If anything, the pressure increased subtle, but enough to send a dangerous little thrill racing through me.

And I hated it.

Hated that my stomach was flipping for entirely different reasons now.

Hated that my brain was shouting bad idea, bad idea, bad idea while my body leaned into the danger anyway.

The applause for my father’s toast snapped me back.

I clapped along half-heartedly.

Alex?

He just lifted his glass toward me, smirk still wicked…

And then, slow as sin, withdrew his foot.

My lap felt colder instantly.

I sat there, trying to act normal, but my heart was racing, and all I could think was:

This man was going to be the death of me.