Every breath in the room seems to freeze. It's not because it is romantic, or beautiful, or perfect in the way love stories are told, but because it isn't. It is still like the moment before a wave crashing on the shore or like the pause before a truth that changes everything.
I can feel his breath just above my cheek, it's close enough to count the seconds it takes for my heart to betray me.
And then he says, "You hold your ground, love."
He doesn't kiss my lips. He just pressed his lips against my forehead. It's soft, measured and unrushed. It kills me inside because the butterflies are rushing towards the lungs instead of settling down in my belly. It isn't passion. It isn't possession. It is just an act, a performance that takes my breath away. And it is perfect.
I won't close my eyes because I don't want to miss the moment that would circulate through tabloids for the next week. I need to remember exactly how it feels to be kissed without being wanted. And maybe, just maybe, how it feels to be protected without knowing why.
The applause returns, louder this time. A wave of celebration, but for me it's nothing. My ears are only hearing the echo of what hasn't happened.
He pulls back slowly, and our eyes meet. His eyes are unreadable, but something is flickering in his eyes; maybe grief, or maybe he's telling me he hates it.
We descend the dais together. He keeps his hand at my lower back; he is barely touching, guiding and controlling.
"Smile," he murmurs, just loud enough for me to hear.
"I've been smiling all night." I replied, my voice just like a glass.
"Then try to make this one reaches your eyes," he says.
"I don't think you've earned that smile yet, Mr Ashford." I hold my gaze steady, looking into his eyes.
"Oh love, say that again, and I might start liking it too much."
Oh god, he's too much, and I can't handle his words in a straight way. So, I choose to say nothing.
We pass a group of executives. I hear Ivy's voice somewhere nearby, laughing too loudly. The same laugh that used to echo through hallways of polished high school, back when our lives were simpler and appearances were easier to maintain. Was she even invited? I start to think useless things in my mind, hoping they'll replace the worst one.
Rian stops to greet a board member; his voice shifts into perfect public charm instantly. A warmth that is calculated. I step slightly away, exhaling slowly because my temples ache badly. My heart is throbbing, not from love, but from pretending that it exists somewhere inside me.
He turned back to me, his gaze sharper this time. "Do you want to go outside?"
I nod at him, "Yes" A simple answer. But for me, it feels like a small rebellion.
He offers me his arm again, and I take it again. But right now, every part of me wants to leave him and fold it across my chest and walk ahead alone.
"You held up well," he says again as we reach the quieter halls leading to the backside of the villa.
"Most people would've cracked," he says, like he also wants me to be like that.
"I've had practice," I answer, "You gave me most of it." That silenced him for a moment.
Actually, I hate how much I don't hate him. I hate that he makes my heart race for no good reason. So, from today, I'll bite and glare at him for the rest of the time. I'll throw words like knives. Because if I don't keep pushing him away… I might just fall for him again.
Maybe I've never stopped. But still, if I go deeper, it'll ruin everything.
Then he says softer this time, "It wasn't supposed to be like this."
I stop, I turn towards him. "What was it supposed to be like?"
He doesn't answer right away. Instead, he opened the glass door to the garden. The moonlight, it's bleeding through silk curtains, falling on the lake just like old secrets. The view of the lake was quiet, save for the wind threading through leaves and the distant clink of champagne glasses.
"I didn't kiss you on the lips," he says finally. I stop walking, my fingers are clenched around the cold metal of the railing.
"What?"
He meets my eyes. "They expected a kiss. I gave them one but not the one they wanted."
"Then why?" A beat, my heart skips a beat.
"Because I wouldn't fake that part of you."
I don't know what to say. My heart pulls in opposite directions, a part of it resisting his words, the other part too tired to question kindness, even if it is laced with his strategy.
The silence between us is no longer cruel. It is confusing me too much.
"What am I to you, Rian Ashford?" I ask him. "Am I a favour? A responsibility? A name you want to fix?"
His jaw tightens under my words. "You are a part of a deal I signed."
"Oh", I said quietly, "You're right. Thanks for reminding me, and how could I forget that?" I smile at him, at me, not the kind he asked for earlier. This one is different, just like a bitter cry. Because I forget, somewhere between the practiced smiles and that moment of almost kiss, I let myself believe there is more. Behind the careful choreography, I didn't think about the truth that has been waiting. I was hoping for better. But how foolish of me to expect something soft from someone carved in ice. How foolish I am to think someone like him could bend without breaking.
"We can't afford to fall in love," he says, his voice low and almost bitter. "love." The words slice through me sharper than any truth, not because he means them but because he doesn't.
"You confuse me, Rian." A gust of wind presses against my bare shoulder like the night has teeth, and I flinch at its coldness. Without a word, he takes off his coat and drapes it around me. The weight of it settled over my body, but it was too heavy for me to feel that warmth. It smells like him, clean, cold and expensive and yet it's comforting. It smells like a secret, spiced musk, midnight air, and something darker I can't name. It's something I don't want to miss.
He stepped back, distancing himself again. "Let's go inside," he said. "It's cold out here." I nod at his words, but I don't want to move. Not yet. Because something in his eyes made me ask again.
"Then tell me, Rian… If we can't fall in love, why are you so confusing?"
His lips part like he is about to respond. But then after, no words come from his mouth. He is looking at me like I am a map he doesn't know how to read. Maybe not because the lines aren't clear, but because he can't admit he is lost.
The night settles around us like a truth we aren't ready to hold. And neither of us move, getting caught between a question and a kiss that never happened.