2. Emily
2
EMILY
I walk into a grand, opulent space, filled with people dressed in designer clothes, sipping champagne from crystal flutes. The air is thick with the scent of expensive perfume and the low hum of conversation. It’s a party, one I clearly don’t belong at.
I move toward the bar, keeping my head down, hoping no one notices how out of place I am in my worn-out jeans and threadbare sweater.
The bartender gives me a quick once-over, raising an eyebrow but saying nothing as he pours me a drink. “How much do I owe you?” I ask.
“Free bar,” he replies. “Look like you need it too.” Whiskey. Neat. Something to warm me from the inside out. I nod a thank you.
I take a sip, the liquid burning a path down my throat, and for the first time all night, the knot in my chest loosens just a little.
I lean against the bar, letting the noise and the warmth wash over me, trying to forget everything that’s happened.
I close my eyes, losing myself in the moment, the world around me blurring into a comforting haze.
When I open them again, I notice him.
It’s a thunderbolt. An instant when my entire world changes. There was before. And now there will be after. Because of him.
A stranger, standing at the far end of the bar, tall and imposing, ten, maybe twenty years older than me, with an air of quiet confidence that seems to draw people in without him even trying.
He’s dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, the dark fabric hugging his broad shoulders and long frame.
His hair is neatly styled, dark as the night outside, but it’s his eyes that catch me off guard—piercing blue, almost unnervingly so.
And they’re staring directly at me.
My breath catches in my throat, and I look away quickly, feeling a flush rise to my cheeks. But I can still feel his gaze on me, as if it’s pulling me toward him, despite the voice in my head telling me to turn around and leave.
I take another sip of my drink, trying to steady myself, but it does little to calm the sudden rush of nerves. I feel naked before that stare. I make myself look away.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I find myself glancing back at him again. He hasn’t moved, but now there’s the faintest hint of a smile on his lips, like he knows something I don’t.
He stares at me, marching over an instant later.
“Lost?” he asks, his voice smooth and deep, with just a trace of amusement.
I hesitate for a moment, then nod. “In more ways than one.”
He studies me for a moment, and I get the sense that he’s not just looking at me, but into me—like he can see all the things I try to hide from the world.
It’s unsettling, but also strangely comforting, like he understands me in a way that no one else does.
“Lucas,” someone shouts. “Come meet the senator.”
The man in front of me waves the approaching figures away, fixing his eyes on me. “Something’s upset you,” he says, his eyes never leaving mine. “What is it?”
I shrug, trying to play it off, but there’s no hiding the truth. “I guess I’m having one of those days. Got any drugs? Or a barn you could take me behind with a shotgun? Tell the kids I went off to live on a farm?”
“Not on me. Could dose you up with pepto bismol. I hear it’s soporific after the first couple of pints.”
“Doesn’t that make your shit turn black?” I freeze, wincing as I realize what I just said. “Sorry. Way too much information.”
A smile flickers on his lips. “What’s your name?” His voice has turned low and intimate, like we’re the only two people in the room.
“Emily,” I say. “Emily Davis.”
“Lucas,” he replies, holding out his hand. “Lucas Caprione.”
I take his hand, and the moment our skin touches, a jolt of something passes between us. His grip is firm, his hand warm, and for a brief second, the world around us seems to fade away. It’s just the two of us, standing here in the middle of this glittering party, and nothing else matters.
“You feel that?” he asks.
I swallow hard, unable to answer.
We stand like this for a moment, neither of us letting go, the silence between us growing heavier, charged with something I can’t quite name.
Then, before I can fully process what’s happening, he steps closer, his hand still holding mine, his eyes darkening with a look that sends a shiver down my spine.
He leans in, his breath warm against my cheek, and then—he kisses me.
It’s not gentle or hesitant. It’s fierce, urgent, like he’s been waiting for this moment just as long as I have.
His lips are soft yet demanding, and I find myself melting into him, my body reacting before my mind can catch up. My hands move to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart through the fabric of his suit.
For a moment, the world tilts on its axis, everything that’s happened tonight falling away as I lose myself in the feel of his mouth on mine.
The kiss is consuming, obliterating the darkness that’s been weighing me down, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I don’t feel alone. I feel alive.
But just as quickly as it began, it ends.
He pulls back, and the world comes crashing in, the music, the laughter, the clinking glasses—everything I’d managed to forget in those fleeting moments.
I stare at him, my heart still racing from the kiss, trying to make sense of the sudden shift.
His expression is unreadable, the warmth in his eyes replaced by something guarded, almost distant. The warmth I saw in his eyes has gone like it was never there.
“You should go,” he says, his voice soft but firm. “Before you get hurt.”
The sting of rejection is sharp, slicing through the haze of our shared moment. I feel foolish, standing here in my ragged clothes, thinking I could be a part of this world, even for a second.
I force a smile, though it feels more like a grimace. “No need to go weird,” I say, my voice tight. “It was just a kiss.”
He looks at me then, really looks at me, and for a moment, I think I see something flicker in his eyes—regret, maybe, or longing—but it’s gone before I can be sure. “I didn’t mean to lead you on,” he says, his tone gentle but firm. “You have no idea who I am, do you?”
“Should I?”
He stops, searching for the right words, but I’ve heard enough. I step back, putting distance between us, my face burning with embarrassment.
“It’s fine,” I cut in, wanting to end this conversation before it gets any worse. “Look, Lucas. No harm done. Anyway, I should be going. Sooner or later they’ll work out I’m a gatecrasher and throw me out anyway.”
“I’d like to see them try,” he says and then he says a command I can’t disobey. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”