20. Felix
FELIX
T he way Belle lights up when she talks about chocolate is absolutely mesmerizing.
I've spent my entire adult life focused on work: blueprints, building codes, structural integrity, profit margins.
Fun has never been part of my vocabulary.
But watching Belle get genuinely excited about chocolate, and library programs makes me want to learn a whole new language.
Her scent has been driving me crazy all evening.
Even through the crowd of competing fragrances in the ballroom, I can pick out her unique blend of vanilla and honey.
I wonder if she's not suppressing as heavily as usual, and this is why her scent is intoxicating me in a way that makes me want to bury my face in her neck and never come up for air.
When I spin her away from that aggressive alpha, I catch a full wave of her scent and have to concentrate on not letting my own response show.
The protective instinct that flares when he snarls at her is immediate and intense, but I force myself to handle it diplomatically.
Though honestly, part of me wanted to show him exactly what happens to alphas who threaten what's mine.
"I can't believe we're discussing pastries while waltzing in a palace," I say, trying to regain the lighter mood we'd established.
"I can't believe you brought up the library first and then acted surprised when I wanted to talk about it," she counters, and her smile is so genuine it makes something tight in my chest loosen.
God, when was the last time I smiled like this? When was the last time I talked about anything that wasn't work related? Belle makes me want to throw my whole schedule out the window and just exist in the moment.
"Fair point," I concede. "Though in my defense, watching you light up when you talk about things you love is quite something."
The compliment makes color rise in her cheeks, and she looks up at me with an expression that's part shy, part pleased. Behind her rose gold mask, her eyes are bright with happiness, and I find myself wanting to do whatever it takes to keep that look on her face.
"You're not so bad yourself, Romano," she says softly. "Even if you do tease me about my chocolate obsession."
"Who's teasing? I think I might have to revise my dessert preferences after this conversation."
As the waltz comes to an end, I make a decision that's been building since she started talking about chocolate fountains and macarons. For once in my life, I want to do something just because it sounds fun.
"Speaking of dessert preferences," I say, keeping her hand in mine as the music fades, "would you like to go investigate that dessert table you've been fantasizing about?"
Her face absolutely lights up. "Really? We can do that?"
"Belle, this is a ball designed for pleasure and indulgence. Of course we can sample the desserts." The words feel foreign coming out of my mouth, but right. Like I'm remembering how to be spontaneous.
"And maybe we could see the library too?" she adds hopefully. "I heard they have an incredible collection here, and I've always wondered what a palace library looks like."
The fact that she's thinking about libraries even at a magical ball is so perfectly Belle that I can't help but grin. "I think that can be arranged. I happen to know my way around this place."
"So, you've visited it before? I knew it! Is the library as interesting as I imagine it to be?"
I shrug. "I don't know. I've never ventured inside it."
"Never?!"
"No, never," I admit. "Honestly, I've never really been interested in libraries, until I heard you talk about books. My thing has always been blueprints and designs."
"Ah, but you studied and read to be the great architect you are today."
I nod in agreement. "But reading for pleasure is one thing and reading for your career is another."
"I don't see the difference. Both of them involve reading and both of them give you joy, so there isn't much difference."
She's such an interesting soul, so much so that she has left me speechless. Something no one ever does.
I offer her my arm, and she takes it with a smile that could power the entire palace.
As we move through the crowd toward the elaborate dessert display, I'm hyperaware of every point of contact between us.
Her hand on my arm burns through the fabric of my tuxedo, and her scent wraps around me like the most expensive silk.
But more than that, there's something about being with her that makes me feel lighter. Like I've been carrying weights I didn't even know were there, and now they're falling away.
The dessert table, is even more spectacular than she imagined.
It's less a table and more an architectural marvel, which I can appreciate from a design perspective, a multi tiered display that rises nearly six feet high, laden with every conceivable sweet confection.
Chocolate éclairs glisten with perfect ganache, petit fours are arranged like tiny jeweled boxes, and yes, there's absolutely a chocolate fountain cascading dark chocolate in mesmerizing ribbons.
"Oh my god," Belle breathes, her eyes wide with wonder. "It's like something out of a fairy tale."
"The fairy tale where Hansel and Gretel find the candy house?" I suggest, and she laughs.
"Exactly, except I don't think anyone's getting eaten here. Well, except the pastries."
I can't remember the last time I made a joke that wasn't work related or that I wanted to. But something about Belle makes me want to be playful. It's weird and unfamiliar and absolutely addictive.
A server approaches with small crystal plates, and Belle accepts one with the reverence usually reserved for sacred artifacts. I watch as she surveys the options with the serious concentration I usually reserve for structural calculations.
"Decisions, decisions," she murmurs, and I can practically see her categorizing each option according to her chocolate system.
"What's the appropriate chocolate for 'first masquerade ball'?" I ask, genuinely curious about her methodology.
"Hmm." She tilts her head thoughtfully, and her scent shifts slightly, becomes warmer, more complex. "It should be something special, but not overwhelming which acknowledges the significance of the moment without being too presumptuous about what kind of moment it is."
"That's very philosophical for dessert selection,” I reflect on her answer.
“Chocolate is serious business, Felix." But she's smiling as she says it, and the way she uses my name sends warmth shooting through my chest. When was the last time someone said my name like that? Like it mattered?
She finally settles on a small chocolate tart topped with gold leaf and what looks like crystallized violets. I choose a chocolate dipped strawberry, mainly because I want to see her reaction to the choice.
"Strawberry and chocolate," she observes approvingly. "Classic combination. Safe but sophisticated."
"Is that your professional assessment?" I ask.
"Absolutely. Though I have to dock points for playing it safe when there are clearly more adventurous options available."
She gestures toward a display of exotic looking confections that I can't even identify. The enthusiasm in her voice, the way she's treating this like a grand adventure instead of just eating dessert, it's infectious. I feel like a kid sneaking cookies before dinner.
"What about chocolate lavender truffles? Or those salted caramel things with the gold flakes?"
"Too adventurous for a first course," I counter, and I'm surprised to realize I'm actually planning multiple dessert courses. When do I ever eat multiple courses of anything? "I'm saving room for the second round."
"Second round?" Her eyes practically sparkle, and her scent becomes even richer. "You're assuming there will be a second round?"
"Belle, have you seen the size of this display? I'm assuming there will be third and fourth rounds."
She takes a delicate bite of her tart and closes her eyes with an expression of pure bliss that does absolutely nothing good for my self control. Her scent spikes with pleasure, and I have to grip my plate tighter to keep from reaching for her.
"Oh, this is dangerous,” she says.
“The chocolate?"
"The everything. The chocolate, the palace, the way you make me feel like it's perfectly normal to eat cake at a ball while discussing the philosophical implications of dessert choices,” I say.
She's right. None of this is normal for me. I don't eat dessert. I don't discuss philosophy. I definitely don't stand around at parties planning multiple courses of sweets. But with Belle, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.
"Belle," I say, stepping closer so I can catch more of her scent, "you bring out a side of me I never knew existed."
"What do you mean?" She asks.
"I mean I haven't thought about work once since we started dancing. I'm standing here planning a dessert tour of a palace instead of mentally reviewing building codes. You make me want to play."
The admission surprises me even as I say it, but it's true. Belle makes me remember that life is supposed to be enjoyable, not just productive.
"Play?" she repeats, and there's something soft in her voice.
"When was the last time you did something just because it was fun?" I ask.
She considers this. "I honestly can't remember."
"Same here. But standing here with you, planning to eat our way through this entire dessert table? That sounds like the most fun I've had in years."
Her scent shifts again, becomes warmer and sweeter, and I realize she's responding to my honesty the same way I respond to hers. We're drawing each other out, making each other braver.
"You know what sounds fun?" she says, and there's a mischievous gleam in her eyes that I've never seen before.
"What?" I ask, curious as to what she has in mind.
"Racing to see who can identify more types of chocolate at that fountain," she says.