Chapter 8 Jonah #2
The crowd applauds. I break apart from him like I’m spring-loaded. We’re both breathing harder than a simple dance should warrant. My whole body burns where he touched me.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Diana's voice cuts through the applause, "the floor is now open for all!"
Music starts again, faster this time, and people flood the dance floor. I escape toward my family's table, desperate for familiar faces and some distance from Alex's intoxicating presence.
But I'm intercepted by a vision in gold.
"Jonah!" Saskia Scarmetto's smile is warm, friendly even, as she air-kisses both my cheeks. Up close, she's even more devastating—all curves and confidence. "I'm Saskia. I've been dying to meet you."
"Oh," I manage, thrown by her friendliness. I have no idea what to say. I only know two things about her. I make a comment about the one that isn’t about her being my husband’s ex. "Congratulations on your Oscar."
"Aren't you sweet!" She links her arm through mine like we're old friends. "Come, let's get you a proper drink and chat. You look like you need a break from all these vultures."
She steers me toward a quieter corner, snagging two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter, pressing one into my hand.
"So," she says, settling gracefully onto a velvet settee and patting the space beside her. "Tell me about yourself. Alex has been terribly mysterious about you."
"There's not much to tell."
"Oh, I doubt that." Her eyes sparkle with what seems like genuine interest. "You're the one who finally caught Alexander Colborne. That makes you fascinating by default."
"The Bureau caught him. I just... showed up."
She laughs, a tinkling sound. "Modesty! How refreshing. Have you traveled much? Alex loves to travel."
"Not really. We went to the coast once when I was twelve."
"No! You've never been to Paris?" She acts shocked when I shake my head.
"Oh, but you must go! Alex adores Paris.
We spent a whole summer there once, just wandering the museums and eating too many croissants.
" She touches my arm lightly. "He knows all the best hidden spots.
Make him take you to this tiny gallery in Montmartre—he discovered it a couple of years ago, before I got too famous to wander freely. "
The casual mention of 'we' sits heavy in my stomach, but her tone is so light, so friendly, it would seem petty to react.
"I don't think we'll be traveling anytime soon," I say carefully.
"Oh, you never know with Alex. He gets these sudden urges to just... escape." She leans closer, conspiratorial. "Between you and me, I think that's why he was so resistant to the Bureau. The idea of being tied down terrified him."
"And yet here we are."
"Here you are indeed." She studies me over her champagne glass. "You know, if you ever need any advice about... well, anything really, please reach out. I know all his little secrets." She winks. "Where he's ticklish, how he takes his coffee... the important things in a marriage."
The offer sounds genuine but there's something underneath it, like a snake hidden in tall grass.
"That's... kind of you."
"I mean it." She squeezes my hand. "Alex can be... complicated. Intense. But underneath all that armor, he's actually quite sensitive. You just have to know how to reach him."
"And you know how?"
"I did once." For a moment, something sad flickers across her perfect features. "But that was a long time ago. Ancient history." She brightens again. "You're his future now. Lucky you!"
Before I can respond, she's gliding away.
The older guests start leaving around ten, including Pastor David, who looks pale and overwhelmed.
"Jonah." He takes my hands in his papery ones near the exit. "I'm praying for you, son. This is your trial, your test. You must bring light to this darkness."
I want to tell him there's no bringing light here. This place swallows light whole. But I just nod, accepting his blessing because it's easier than arguing.
My family leaves shortly after, each of them hugging me tight like they're saying goodbye to someone going off to war.
"Call me," Mom whispers. "Every day if you need to."
"We're proud of you," Dad adds, though he looks like he's aged ten years since this morning.
After they leave, Diana turns to me. "The car for you and Alexander will arrive in thirty minutes. The estate is prepared for your arrival. Ricky will let you know when it’s here.
Make sure you don’t leave without security.
" She checks her phone. "I must go. Congratulations again, Jonah. Welcome to the family."
And then she's gone too, leaving me alone in this sea of strangers.
I find a place at a table in the corner to sit and wait for the car.
Thirty minutes pass. Then forty. Then an hour.
The reception begins to transform into something else entirely. Waves of champagne come out, brought by bow-tied waiters, then bottles of harder alcohol.
The music pounds, bass heavy enough to feel in my bones. People grind on the dance floor, inhibitions dissolved in alcohol and privilege.
Alex is in the center of it all, tie completely undone, shirt partially unbuttoned, laughing at something someone is saying. Even disheveled and drunk, he's magnetic, drawing every eye in the room.
I walk up to him on the dance floor, doing my best to avoid the crush of bodies.
"The car hasn't come," I tell him, having to shout over the music.
"What?" He leans closer, and I can smell the alcohol on his breath mixed with his pine-and-whiskey scent. My body responds immediately, that traitorous heat pooling low in my belly.
"The car Diana arranged. It hasn't come."
"Oh, that." He waves dismissively. "I canceled it."
"You... what?"
"Canceled it. The night's just getting started!"
Suddenly his hands are on my waist, pulling me flush against him. The full body contact sends electricity shooting through me, and I can feel how much he wants me, hard and insistent against my hip.
"Come on, church mouse," he murmurs, his voice different now—warm, almost affectionate. "Let your hair down a little. Dance with me properly this time."
His eyes are bright but focused on me in a way they haven't been all day. One hand slides up to cup the back of my neck, fingers threading through my hair, and I nearly moan at the contact.
"Alex..." My voice comes out breathy, wrecked.
"God, you're beautiful," he says, wonder in his voice like he's just noticing. "So fucking beautiful. Been driving me crazy all day in this suit."
He starts moving us to the music, bodies pressed together, and it's nothing like our formal first dance.
This is raw, intimate, his hips rolling against mine in a way that makes my knees weak.
His scent surrounds me, and I can feel myself getting wet, my body preparing for an alpha it desperately wants.
"That's it," he encourages when I start to move with him. "There you go. Not so uptight after all, are you?"
His hand tightens in my hair, tilting my head back, and for a moment I think he's going to kiss me. His eyes are dark with want, pupils blown wide, and he's looking at me like I'm something precious, something he actually wants.
It's too much. The chemistry between us is overwhelming, drowning me in sensation and desire. I've never felt anything like this—this pull, this need. My omega instincts are screaming at me to submit, to let him claim me right here on the dance floor.
I panic.
"You're drunk," I say, shoving against his chest. “Get off.”
The warmth in his eyes dies instantly. He releases me so abruptly I stumble.
I finally manage to escape, finding a corner table in the shadows where I can breathe.
From here, I watch the party deteriorate further.
Alex is back in his element, dancing with abandon, laughing with his head thrown back.
He's gorgeous like this—wild and free and absolutely magnetic.
People orbit around him like planets around the sun.
He doesn't look at me again. Not once. Hours pass. My eyes burn with exhaustion. The adrenaline from the day has long since worn off, leaving me hollow and aching. I just want to sleep, to close my eyes and pretend this day never happened. I am exhausted and the music is too loud but I have absolutely nowhere to go. I don’t belong at home anymore and I don’t know how to get to the estate from here.
I don’t have anything I can do except wait.
Finally, around three in the morning, I can't take it anymore. I find Alex again, now doing shots with Saskia and a group of models or actresses or whatever beautiful people do for a living.
"I want to leave," I tell him.
He looks at me. "Well, I don't."
"Alex—"
"You're a Colborne now." He gestures grandly, nearly spilling his drink. "If you want to go to bed, go get one."
He waves at a passing staff member, a woman in the hotel's uniform. "Hey! My husband wants to go to sleep. Find him a suite, will you?"
"Of course, sir," she says smoothly.
Alex turns back to me, his eyes hard as diamonds. "You're going to have to learn to do things for yourself, church mouse. I have no intention of tucking you into bed every night."
I'm too exhausted to argue. "Fine," I say quietly.
I follow the staff member through the hotel's maze of corridors. The suite she leads me to is obscene in its luxury. It’s larger than my parents' entire house, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Everything is covered in gold leaf.
"Will there be anything else, Mr. Colborne?" she asks.
Mr. Colborne. The name sits wrong on my tongue.
"No. Thank you."
She leaves, and I'm alone. Completely alone, in a strange room in a strange city, while my new husband parties downstairs with his ex-girlfriend and his horrible friends.