Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Her hand fit in mine more naturally than I was prepared for.
When I guided Brianna onto the dance floor, her cheeks were already flushed from the warmth of the room and the weight of all those curious glances.
As the music swelled, I set one hand gently at her waist, and she rested her other hand on my shoulder.
The world blurred around us.
“Relax,” she whispered, a soft teasing tug in her smile. “I won’t let you embarrass yourself.”
I huffed a laugh. “I’m not worried about embarrassing myself. I’m worried about stepping on your toes.”
“You’re doing fine so far.”
Her eyes glimmered in the light and–God help me–I felt it again.
That pull. That dangerous, quiet awareness of her.
We settled into a rhythm quicker than I expected.
My hand at her waist, her breath brushing my collar, the soft glide of our steps as the room spun gently around us.
I tried not to stare, but she looked… radiant.
“Are you enjoying this?” I asked, noticing the relaxed tilt of her smile.
“The dancing?” she shrugged. “Well, I grew up with all of this. You know–The christmas balls, the community, even the gossipy grannies. My gran wasn’t one to let me sit still.”
“Smart woman.”
“She’d have liked you,” Brianna said before she could stop herself.
Her cheeks reddened instantly.
“And you’d have liked her,” she added quickly, as if correcting the intimacy of her first statement.
“I’m sure I would have,” I said softly.
Her breath caught. She tried to mask it with a playful roll of her eyes, but the moment hung between us long enough that even the lights seemed to pause.
Trying to ease the tension, I spun her gently.
She let out a quiet laugh, a breath of sound, warm and precious, and came back into my arms with a soft thud.
And for a second, we just stood there, close enough that I could feel the warmth of her skin through the delicate fabric of her dress. But then her smile faltered.
“Oliver…” she began carefully, “how much longer will you be here?”
The question sank into me like a stone.
“I don’t know,” I answered truthfully. “It depends on the roads, when the flights start up again and of course, the weather.”
“And what about my bakery?” she pressed quietly. “Are you any closer to deciding what happens to it?”
The music softened around us. The dancers swayed. Someone laughed near the punch bowl. But all of it felt very far away.
“I’m doing everything I can,” I said. “But I can’t give you a final answer yet.”
Her eyes sharpened, not with anger, but with something far worse: disappointment.
“You mean your family hasn’t changed their mind.”
“I’m trying to get them to,” I said. “There’s more at play here than you know. Money. Pressure. Expectations. But Brianna, I’m not–”
“So that’s it?” she cut in, voice tightening. “You’re just going to do what you’re told and leave us all behind?” She paused, biting her bottom lip, “Leave me behind?”
Leave her. The words stabbed deeper than they should have.
“It’s not like that,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “I gave you my word–I’m not letting your bakery go without a fight.”
She shook her head once, sharply. “Words don’t mean much to people in your world, do they?”
The music reached its final note, and she slipped out of my arms.
“I should go,” she said quietly. “Enjoy the ball. Enjoy the rest of your stay. It doesn’t matter what you say, you’ll do what you’re expected to.”
“Brianna–”
But she was already walking away. Not causing a scene, just leaving, shoulders tight, steps fast, the fabric of her dress brushing past startled guests as she pushed through the crowd.
I took a step after her, instinct, impulse, desperation.
And someone’s hand landed on my sleeve. Ivy, “Give her a minute–”
I shook her off. “I can’t.”
I followed her out the side doors and into the cold.
The night hit instantly, sharp wind, swirling snow, fairy lights glowing across the square. The Christmas tree towered in the centre, wrapped in ribbons and twinkling lights.
And there she was.
Standing at the base of it. Arms wrapped around herself; she’d left her shawl with her head down. Snow was already catching in her hair, just like sparkling stars.
I approached slowly, breath clouding the air. “Brianna.”
She didn’t turn.
“We can’t just let this spoil our evening,” I said gently.
“And you can’t come in here with promises you might not keep.” Her voice wavered, but her spine stayed straight. “How am I supposed to trust any of this?”
I moved closer, but not close enough to crowd her.
“You don’t know me,” she whispered. “And I don’t know you. Not really. And yet–” She broke off, shaking her head. “All I can see when I look at you is the man who might take everything from me.”
The words sliced through me cleanly.
“I’m not a big shot from London,” I said, voice low. “I’m not some villain your town needs to fight. I’m just a man who got lucky in life… and unlucky enough to find himself caught between duty and–”
I stopped. The word almost escaped.
She scoffed bitterly. “Lucky. Right. Meanwhile I’ve had to work for every inch of my life. Every scrap. Every breath.”
“And I respect that,” I said. “More than you realise.”
She looked at me then, with her eyes bright, cheeks flushed from the cold and the sting of her own doubts.
And something in her expression cracked.
Just enough for me to move closer. Because beneath the anger, beneath the fear, beneath the armour, there was longing.
A pull she didn’t want and couldn’t hide.
The wind swirled between us and the Christmas lights glowed. Snowflakes drifted like falling embers. And in the space of a heartbeat, everything in her face shifted.
Her anger, my frustration. The night, the snow falling, all of it melted into something warmer, deeper, far more dangerous.
She whispered, barely audible,
“Oliver… what are we doing here?”
The question wasn’t simple; it trembled out of her. Snow drifted between us, catching in the glow of the tree lights. Her breath came in small, uneven clouds. I took one step closer, slow, careful, giving her every chance to step back.
She didn’t.
“Something we should have already done,” I murmured, my voice low in the cold air. “Something I’ve been trying not to want.”
Her lips parted just slightly. A soft exhale and a flicker of uncertainty and something warmer behind her eyes.
“Oliver…”
My name sounded fragile on her tongue, like she wasn’t sure whether to say it or swallow it down.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” I said quietly. “And I’m not going to walk away from this like it meant nothing.”
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed.
“But you’re leaving,” she whispered. “As soon as the weather clears, you’ll go back to London. And this, this will just be…” She blinked hard, shaking her head. “A moment… A mistake”
I stepped closer again until only a breath of space remained between us. Close enough to feel her shiver. Close enough that her perfume, soft and warm, like vanilla and winter citrus curled faintly around me.
“It doesn’t feel like a mistake,” I said. “Not to me.”
I reached up slowly, giving her every second to tell me no. My fingers brushed a snowflake from her cheek. She inhaled sharply, her eyes closing for a heartbeat, a surrender, a pull, a flash of something too real to label.
When she looked at me again, her gaze was unsteady.
“Oliver… if we do this—”
“We already are,” I whispered.
The lights above us glowed softly, casting gold across her auburn hair. The square was quiet except for the distant hum of music spilling from the hall. The cold nipped at our skin, but it didn’t matter. She stood there beneath the giant Christmas tree like every wish I’d forgotten how to make.
I lowered my forehead toward hers, brushing the faintest bit of contact. She didn’t move; she didn’t pull away. Her eyelashes fluttered.
“Tell me to stop,” I whispered.
She didn’t. Instead, she leaned, just barely, the tiniest tilt of her chin toward mine. And that was all the permission I needed.