6. Keaton
Chapter 6
Keaton
T he second my father's speech ended, I was ready to find some girls and get the hell out.
"Dance with me?" Lola asked, her nails sinking into my suit like claws.
"Absolutely the fuck not," I said, lighting another cigarette. "Don't fucking touch me."
She scowled. "In public, Keaton? Really?" she hissed, keeping her voice low.
People had gone back to eating and dancing, barely noticing the tension radiating between us.
"I don't give a flying fuck," I responded before taking a drag.
Lola's eyes narrowed to slits. She leaned in closer, her voice dripping with venom. "You're making a scene."
"Good," I muttered, blowing smoke in her direction.
I needed to get away from her before I made a bigger scene. I flicked the ash from my cigarette and turned on my heel, pushing through the crowd of glittering guests and their empty conversations. The ballroom felt suffocating, every chandelier and fake smile closing in on me.
I pushed through the heavy oak door and stepped into what appeared to be a study. The dim lighting cast a warm glow over the rich mahogany bookshelves and leather-bound tomes. For a moment, I wondered if even The Ritz had rooms like this. The soft clinking of silverware drew my attention, followed by a muffled moan—one drenched in pleasure.
I turned and saw her: a petite blonde girl, but she wasn’t wrapped in some lover's embrace. She was eating. Devouring, actually. Her lips closed around a delicate pastry, her eyes shut tight in what looked like ecstasy.
"What I wouldn't give to be the one making you make those noises, babes," I said, my voice low and gravelly.
She choked, nearly dropping the pastry. Her head snapped up, and our eyes locked. There was something familiar about her, though I couldn't place it.
She had wide, green eyes framed by thick lashes that fluttered as she caught her breath. Her skin glowed under the soft light, hinting at days spent outdoors despite the rigid life of Crestwood Academy students. Her blonde hair was in a simple bun, and a few stray crumbs clung to the corner of her mouth. Her attire—a simple dress that clung to her curves—suggested she didn’t belong at an event like this.
But fuck, she looked better than everyone else here.
"Excuse me?" she stammered, her voice shaky but defiant.
I stepped closer, curiosity piqued by her reaction. "You're not supposed to be here," I said.
Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment or anger—I couldn't tell which. She quickly wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and squared her shoulders.
"And you are?" she shot back.
A smirk tugged at my lips. This girl had fire. "Keaton Douglas," I said as if that explained everything.
Recognition flashed across her face, but it wasn't admiration or fear—more like annoyance.
"I know who you are," she replied, lifting her chin slightly. "And you're right; I'm not supposed to be here."
"So why are you?" I asked, intrigued by this unexpected encounter.
"Because I was hungry and wanted to be alone," she replied, her voice steady despite the situation.
I wished she wasn't wearing that mask. It covered half her face, leaving me guessing what she looked like beneath it.
"So, you're here alone?" I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me.
She lifted her chin, trying to appear intimidating, but with the crumbs still clinging to her lips, it only made her look more endearing. "What of it?"
I chuckled. This girl had guts.
"Shouldn't you be with your fiancée?" she asked, arching an eyebrow. "Isn't that why this party is even going on?"
I gave her a long look, my hands shoved deep into my pockets. I shrugged, letting out a sigh. "I'd much rather be with you."
"You don't even know me," she pointed out, narrowing her eyes.
"True," I admitted. "But I know her."
She paused, tilting her head to the side, elongating her neck in a way that made me want to take a bite out of it.
"You... don't want to marry her?" she asked, genuine curiosity in her voice.
"Fuck no," I said without hesitation.
She wrinkled her nose, probably at my crassness.
"But... why would you marry her then?" she asked, her green eyes narrowing in curiosity. "You don't love her?"
I scoffed. "Love? That's a fairy tale for people who still believe in happy endings. Marriages like mine are about power and control, not some bullshit idea of love." Her shocked expression made me laugh. "What is it? Don't tell me you believe in that shit, babes."
"Don't call me that," she said, her voice steady but eyes flashing with defiance.
I smirked, enjoying the fire in her gaze. "What should I call you then?"
She opened her mouth as if to answer but quickly shut it. The hesitation was intriguing.
"Are you supposed to be here, babes?" I asked, leaning in slightly. Her scent was intoxicating, a mix of something sweet and earthy.
She turned away from me, hiding her face. "I'm not sure what you mean. The invitation said everyone, didn't it?"
"It did," I agreed, stepping closer. She reminded me of a deer—fragile but with an underlying strength. I didn't want to scare her away.
"So, if you don't want to marry her, why be here in the first place?" she asked, genuinely curious.
"You ask as if I have a choice," I muttered, bitterness creeping into my voice.
"Don't you?" she asked softly.
I paused, taking in her question. Her genuine curiosity and lack of pretense were refreshing. It was a stark contrast to the hollow interactions I had with people like Lola and my father.
"No," I said finally, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Why not?" she asked, her eyes searching mine for an answer.
"Expectations," I replied, feeling a strange pull to be honest with her. "My father expects me to marry the bitch to secure our family's business interests."
She wrinkled her nose again.
Definitely because of my crassness.
I didn't understand why I was even talking to her about this. Normally, I wouldn't bother sharing anything personal with a stranger, let alone someone who clearly didn't belong at this event. But there was something about her that made me lower my guard slightly.
She frowned, her brow furrowing in thought. "That sounds... awful."
I shrugged, trying to play it off as no big deal. "It's just the way things are. You learn to live with it."
"But you don't have to," she said, her voice firm. "You can choose your own path."
I laughed, the sound harsh and bitter in the quiet room. "You think it's that simple? Just walk away and everything will be fine?"
She held my gaze, unflinching. "Maybe not simple, but possible."
"Possible," I echoed, the word tasting foreign on my tongue.
She took a step closer, her eyes softening. "What's stopping you?"
"Everything," I said, my voice dropping lower. "My father controls everything—my inheritance, my future. If I walk away from this marriage, I lose it all."
Her expression shifted from curiosity to something resembling pity. I hated that look; it made me feel weak.
"Is it worth it?" she asked quietly.
"To him? Yes," I replied, bitterness creeping into my tone. "To me... I don't know."
She bit her lip, contemplating something before speaking again. "You deserve to be happy, Keaton."
Her words hit me harder than they should have. No one had ever said that to me before—at least not with such sincerity.
"Why do you care?" I asked, genuinely puzzled.
She looked away for a moment before meeting my eyes again. "Because everyone deserves a chance at happiness."
For a moment, we stood there in silence, the weight of her words hanging in the air between us.
I took a deep breath and shook my head. "It's not that simple," I repeated, though my resolve felt weaker than before.
"It could be," she whispered.
Her optimism was almost contagious. Almost.
"What's your name?" I asked suddenly.
She hesitated before answering, as if revealing this small piece of herself was a significant risk.
I scowled and lit a cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating her face. She watched me with clear disapproval.
"Those are bad for you, especially considering you play hockey," she said, her voice carrying a note of concern.
"Ah, so you do know me." I raised an eyebrow and took a long drag. "Want a drag?" I offered, holding the cigarette out to her.
"I'd rather keep my lungs, thanks," she muttered, crossing her arms.
"And what would you know about it?" I asked, leaning against the desk. "It's not like you know anything about arranged marriages. I bet you have a little crush on some goody two-shoes, some good boy who would never even think about bending you over that desk and rutting in you like an animal."
Her cheeks turned crimson at my words.
"As I thought," I said smugly. "Virgin."
Her mouth opened and closed a few times before she finally managed to speak. "I… My… It's… That's none of your business."
She was cute when she was flustered.
"Am I wrong though?" I pressed, enjoying the way her face turned even redder.
"I know more than you think," she replied, lifting her chin defiantly.
"About sex?" I arched a doubtful brow. "I doubt that."
"About arranged marriages," she said, then her brows shot up as if she had revealed too much. Maybe she wasn't allowed to say anything more.
I watched her carefully, intrigued by this unexpected turn. Her reaction suggested there was more to her story than she let on.
"No offense, babes, but I don't think you're from a family who has business to… offer anything," I said, taking another drag from my cigarette.
"You're a jerk-face," she shot back, her eyes narrowing.
"Ooh, careful, your words are biting," I replied with a smirk, placing a mocking hand over his heart.
"Whatever," she said, rolling her eyes. "You wouldn't know. You were born with a silver spoon in your mouth, and you're hiding in this room like a coward."
"A what?" My voice edged with irritation. I'd been called a lot of things, but a coward wasn't one of them.
"You heard me," she continued, not backing down. "Your parents want your future to be secure. Life is so hard for you. It's much better than being given away so your parents' debt is taken care of."
My eyes narrowed as her words sank in. "What?" I asked, disbelief and anger mixing in my voice.
"Just forget it," she said quickly, taking her plate and turning to leave.
But I wasn't about to let her walk away that easily. I grabbed her wrist, stopping her in her tracks. She looked up at me, and our gazes locked in a heated stare.
"Who are you?" I asked again, my grip firm but not painful.
For a moment, neither of us moved or spoke. Her green eyes were wide and full of secrets. She was hiding something—something big.
Her lips parted as if she was about to say something, but then she clamped them shut again. I could see the internal battle raging within her. It was as if she wanted to tell me but didn't trust me enough yet.
“Why do you care?” she asked.
“You know me,” I pointed out, taking another drag from my cigarette.
“Not really,” she replied, watching the smoke curl around us.
An idea sparked in my mind, and I cocked my head to the side. “You wanna do something bad, babes?”
“I’m not going to smoke,” she said firmly, crossing her arms over her chest.
“No?” I took a long drag, feeling the warmth fill my lungs. I lowered my face to hers, close enough to see the flicker of hesitation in her eyes. To my surprise, she didn’t pull away.
Our lips touched, and I exhaled slowly, letting the smoke drift from my mouth into hers. She didn’t move; she held her breath, her eyes wide but steady on mine. The moment was charged with an unexpected sensuality, far more intense than most of the sex I'd had.
The smoke curled around our tongues and slid down our throats. Her breath hitched slightly as she inhaled. I could feel the heat of her skin through the small space between us.
When we finally pulled apart, her eyes were glassy and unfocused for a second before clarity returned. She coughed softly, trying to regain her composure.
“Better than a cigarette?” I asked with a smirk, wiping a stray strand of hair from her face.
She gave me a look that was part annoyance and part intrigue. “You’re insufferable.”
“Maybe,” I replied with a grin. “But you didn’t hate it.”
She bit her lip again and looked away, clearly unsure how to respond. For once, I felt like I had genuinely connected with someone—if only for a brief moment.
"What's your name?" I asked again, softer this time.
She opened her mouth to speak, but I silenced her with a kiss. This time, it wasn’t just a fleeting brush of lips. I dropped my cigarette, not caring where it landed, and wrapped my arms around her small frame. She was soft and petite, her warmth seeping into me as I pressed her close.
Her body tensed for a moment, then relaxed against mine. The contrast between her nervousness and the way she molded into me was endearing, stirring something deep within me that I didn’t want to examine too closely.
I licked her bottom lip, half-expecting her to pull away, but instead, she hesitated before parting her lips for me. That small act of surrender sent a jolt through me. I took the chance, deepening the kiss, tasting the sweetness of the pastry still lingering on her tongue.
Her hands found their way to my shoulders, gripping tightly as if she needed something to hold onto. I could feel the rapid beat of her heart against my chest, matching the rhythm of my own. It was intoxicating—the way she responded to me, the way she seemed to melt under my touch.
I tightened my hold on her, one hand sliding up to tangle in her hair while the other rested on the small of her back. She whimpered softly against my mouth, and I swallowed the sound, pulling her even closer.
She tasted like something forbidden and sweet—a reminder of why I'd wanted to escape this world of control and expectations. In that moment, nothing else mattered but the feeling of her in my arms and the way she responded to my kiss.
When we finally broke apart for air, we were both breathing heavily. Her eyes were wide and glazed over with a mixture of surprise and something else—something that mirrored what I felt.
For a moment, we just stood there as we caught our breath. The world outside this room seemed distant and unimportant compared to the intensity of what had just happened between us.
I didn't want to let go. And from the way she clung to me, neither did she.
"How much is your family's debt?" I asked, my voice rougher than I intended.
"What?" she replied, her confusion palpable. Her green eyes searched mine for clarity, but I held firm.
"The debt," I repeated, each word deliberate. "How much?"
"Why do you?—?"
"Let's do something bad, babes," I interrupted, leaning forward until my breath ghosted over her skin. The idea had sparked like a match in the dark recesses of my mind. I didn't think it through, didn't need to. It felt liberating to act without calculation for once.
Her eyes widened as she processed my words. "What are you talking about?"
"Let me pay off the debt," I said, the words spilling out before I could second-guess myself. "Marry me instead."
She froze, the shock evident on her face. Her lips parted as if to protest, but no sound came out. I watched as the wheels turned in her head; the disbelief mixing with a flicker of hope.
"Why would you—?" she started, but I cut her off again.
"Because it's better than marrying Lola," I said, a grim smile tugging at my lips. "And because I'm sure I'm better than whoever you're supposed to marry, or you wouldn't be here alone."
She blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of my sudden proposition. "You don't even know me."
"True," I admitted, taking a step closer and lifting her chin so she had no choice but to look at me. "But I've got a feeling you might be worth getting to know."
She swallowed hard, her eyes searching mine for any sign of deception. When she found none, she seemed to relax slightly.
"This is insane," she whispered.
"Maybe," I agreed, leaning in until our foreheads touched again. "But sometimes insanity is the only way out. Didn't you say that?"
"I definitely did not." She closed her eyes briefly as if trying to gather her thoughts. When she opened them again, there was a determination in their depths that hadn't been there before. "And what about your father?" she asked quietly.
"I'll deal with him," I replied firmly. "Right now, I'm more interested in dealing with your family and that damn debt."
For the first time since we started this conversation, she let out a soft laugh—a sound so genuine and unexpected that it sent a jolt through me.
"This is really happening," she murmured, more to herself than to me.
"Yes," I said softly but with conviction. "It is. Marry me, babes. What do you say?"