8. ADELE
8
ADELE
M y gaze swept over the crowd, and despite the extravagant perfume and champagne filling the air, I stifled a yawn as Marco leaned in too close, his breath drifting over my earlobe.
“If you want, I can take you into the bathroom and wake you up,” he murmured, his voice tinged with that flirty edge I’d despised.
I forced a smile, but inside, I was screaming. Did I really want to relive that chapter of my life? Not at all. But there I was, pretending like I had it all together.
“We’re here on work business, Marco. Stay professional.” I gave him a dismissive wave, my eyes glancing towards the corridor, longing for an escape. “Go and mingle. I need to find the bathroom.”
I turned on my heel before he could protest, heading for a chance of solitude.
Truthfully, I had no idea where the bathrooms were, but I couldn’t stand another minute beneath Marco’s predatory gaze. His confidence dripped like honey, thick and overbearing. If there was one thing I avoided at all costs, it was office romances —let alone casual sex with someone I’d have to face every Monday morning.
No matter how much his lean, muscular frame or those captivating emerald eyes might be tempting.
I glanced over my shoulder as Marco turned his attention to a group of dazzling women, his smile like the cat that got the cream.
Farewell, Marco. Enjoy your next conquest.
The hallway was dimly lit and thankfully deserted. I made my way to the French doors that led onto the balcony, and the cool breeze immediately hit me. It was a relief compared to the suffocating atmosphere inside. I wrapped my arms tightly around myself, moving towards the silhouette by the railing—a tall, broad figure hunched over slightly as though the weight of the world pressed onto his shoulders.
I’d just have to hope he wasn’t the wanker from the other newspaper because then I’d have to throw him over the balcony.
“Stifling in there, isn’t it?” I murmured.
The man stirred but didn’t turn to face me. His posture was hunched—defeated, almost. The wind played with his dark hair, and he let out a rough sigh, the sound carrying a thousand unsaid things.
“Feels like a cage,” he admitted, his voice low and hoarse, tinged with something I couldn’t quite name.
“I agree.” I stood beside him, staring out at the city. I let out a quiet sigh and leaned against the railing, the cold metal biting into my palms. “I’m here on business, but I’d rather be on my sofa with my cat.” I gazed out into the spiderweb of city lights, each bright point feeling like a distant, unreachable reality rather than a glow of warmth.
He glanced sideways at me, his profile caught in the moonlight, but my eyes were still lost in the electric skyline. It reminded me of promises half-kept, dreams half-lived.
“Sounds like a good plan. Shall we?” His voice was tempting and playful, like an unseen current pulling me in deeper.
I let myself smile, a polite gesture to humour a stranger. “I’ve got to work, or I would. It doesn’t help that I’m here with someone I had a drunken thing with from work.”
I groaned inwardly at myself. Foot in mouth, as always.
Why did I say that? Where was the filter between my brain and my lips ?
“Shit, really?”
There was a mild curiosity in his voice, but mostly, it felt like the kind of conversation you have with someone in an elevator, sharing more than you’d planned because you know you’ll never see them again. Or so I thought. And perhaps that’s why I pressed on.
“Yeah,” I said, exhaling lightly. “He thinks we’re having an encore tonight, but I’ve told him I’m going back to my boyfriend.”
He turned then, and as my smile curved wider with a joke on the tip of my tongue, I came face-to-face with eyes that left me breathless, the world spinning beneath me. Pond green, depthless, they seemed to shimmer under the moonlight.
“He’s my cat. But don’t tell anyone,” I whispered weakly, the grin fading from my lips as recognition cut through the air like a hot blade through butter.
His smile crooked, the one I had seen a decade ago through summer haze, through the bloom of distant fireworks, on lips that had once whispered my name against my skin.
“Adele?” His voice was a caress, a ghost from a memory that hadn’t haunted me in years—until now.
“Ted?"
Holy fuck
My breath hitched, and suddenly, the air around us felt like an exhale stuck in my throat.
Ted. Here. In front of me.
Edward.
“Edward?” a voice roared up the hallway, loud enough to shatter the fragile bubble that had briefly encased us. A bald man with flushed cheeks hurried toward us like a human wrecking ball. “Elena’s going mad looking for you!”
Ted—Edward—glanced at me one more time, his grip tightening momentarily on the balcony rail, his eyes still locked on mine with an intensity that made my knees feel like water.
Surely, this was a hallucination.
“I’ve got to go,” he whispered regretfully, his hands reaching for mine with a confidence that held history in it. His rough fingers laced between mine as if no time had passed. “What’s your last name? How—how do I find you?”
I blinked, struggling not to come undone as his warm breath fanned across my knuckles. This felt like something out of a dream, dizzying and cruel in its timing. “Pickering,” I forced out, my voice barely a thread of air. “Adele Pickering.”
His eyes flickered with something raw, something drowned in regret and longing.
“And you ruined music for me.” I choked out a breath, my chest tight, the weight of old emotions flooding through the cracks of my carefully constructed walls. My heart felt like it had soaked up all the lost days between us, a sponge now saturated in unwelcome memories.
His face twisted with emotion, his brows knotting together as he whispered, “I didn’t know how to find you. I—I’ve thought about you every single?—”
“Edward!” The bald man’s urgency cut the moment clean.
Ted turned, pulling away reluctantly. “I’ll find you this time,” he promised quietly, his voice dipping low enough to make my skin tingle. “Don’t go home with him.”
Then, like a phantom, he disappeared. I was left on the balcony with nothing but the taste of tears that threatened to spill over.
The city rumbled with life below, but mine had just collapsed.
I collected myself and made my way back to the ballroom, only to be found by Marco.
“I’ve spotted Elena and Edward up close. Ready to dance?” Marco asked.
I barely registered what he was saying as he pulled me back into the stifling ballroom. Then, we were on the dance floor that now felt like an arena I wasn’t equipped for. But I followed wordlessly, my mind spinning as wildly as the music.
The ballroom dancing was a surprise. Marco’s touch was confident, his arm firm against my lower back.
“My mother was obsessed. I started lessons at six.” He grinned, the sweep of his hand taking us into the next turn. “Thought I’d be the next Julio Iglesias.”
I tried to smile, anything to hide the emotional tornado raging beneath the surface of my skin.
“There they are, darling,” Marco whispered into my ear. “Look at her. Even more stunning in the flesh.”
I followed his gaze, and there she was—a gleaming sculpture of perfection, Elena Dalton, every inch of her exuding wealth and beauty. But the man beside her...
Ted.
It felt like the ground had opened underneath me, and I would’ve probably collapsed if Marco wasn’t holding me upright. How was it possible to relive your greatest heartache—and for it to get worse?
Engaged.
He was engaged—to her.
Ted—Edward—Mr Elena Dalton. The son of a billionaire.