Chapter 21 #2
Blake has tears streaming down his face, one hand pressed to his mouth, shoulders shaking uncontrollably. William is doubled over, hands covering his face, his entire body convulsing. When he looks up, his eyes are red-rimmed, wet streaks painting his cheeks.
"What?" I ask, lowering the microphone. "Was the performance that good—"
William throws his head back, a booming laugh erupting from deep in his chest. It's so powerful, so uninhibited, that it seems to shake the small room. Blake makes a strangled sound and rushes for the door, mumbling something about needing the bathroom before he wets himself.
EJ stands awkwardly to the side, lips pressed together so hard, they're turning white, a strange grimace on his face as he tries not to laugh.
"What's happening right now?" I demand, heat flooding my cheeks.
William struggles to catch his breath. "Violet—" He wheezes, wiping his eyes. "I thought—" Another fit of laughter claims him. "I thought we were going to need medical assistance when you hit those high notes."
"Excuse me?"
"It sounded like—" He mimics a sound somewhere between a drowning cat, and a rusty hinge. "And then you did this thing with your face—" He scrunches his features into an expression of constipated concentration.
EJ bites his lip, clearly trying not to laugh.
"It's okay, EJ," I say, my voice painfully dignified. "You can laugh, too."
"I wouldn't—" he starts, but then William makes a strangled noise and says, "I think my eardrums are filing for divorce," and EJ loses it completely, collapsing onto the floor in a fit of laughter.
"Yes, very funny," I say, crossing my arms. "I'm aware I'm not a professional singer."
"Professional?" William wipes his eyes, still chuckling. "Violet, cats in heat have better pitch."
"I sang from the heart," I say primly.
"Your heart might need a tune-up then," he counters, setting EJ off again.
The embarrassment hits me like a heatwave, hot and overwhelming. "So I can't sing. Great. Glad we've established that."
William's laughter softens, though his eyes still sparkle with mirth. "No, you cannot. Not even a little bit."
"It was... enthusiastic," EJ offers weakly.
The door opens and Blake returns, takes one look at me, and starts laughing all over again. "Just like your father," he wheezes. "Exactly like Frederick. He thought he was Frank Sinatra."
"Yeah, really funny. I know, I suck. Can you guys stop laughing?" I try to sound stern, but it's difficult when they're all so genuinely amused.
"Your technique reminds me of my neighbor's cat when I accidentally step on its tail," William says, his smile wide and bright.
I’m ready to be annoyed, but something in his expression catches me off guard.
He's laughing, yes, but there's a gentleness in his gaze, a warmth that makes my irritation melt away.
I sink down onto the sofa beside him, far enough away to be respectable, but close enough that his warmth envelops me.
EJ, seemingly recovered from his laughing fit, jumps up and grabs Blake. "Come on, old man. Let's show the boss how it's done." He scrolls through the song list and selects what looks like a duet.
"That's a weakness I didn't know you had," he whispers, shifting closer until our thighs touch. His breath tickles my ear.
"Everyone has flaws," I mutter, hyperaware of his proximity.
"True. Mine is that I can't stop thinking about you."
The simple confession steals my breath. "That's not a flaw."
"It is when you're trying to focus on race prep and all you can think about is your boss's smile, or if she’s okay."
EJ and Blake have launched into some romantic ballad with sweeping verses. Their voices blend surprisingly well, creating a tender atmosphere that only heightens the tension between William and me.
"I'm not technically your boss," I whisper.
William leans closer, his nose brushing against my neck in a touch so light, it might be my imagination. "No? Then what are you?" His voice drops lower, a near-moan in my ear. "Because right now, all I can think about is being with you. Around you. Under…you. Just us, boss."
He reaches up and boops my cheek with his finger. "You're adorable, you know. Even if singing isn't your thing."
"I am not adorable," I protest with a mock pout.
"Cute, then," he amends, his fingers brushing against mine on the cushion between us.
"I'm the CEO of a Formula 1 team."
"Who sings like a wounded seagull." He grins, dodging my elbow.
I can't help it—I laugh. "I hate you."
"No, you don't," he says softly, and the humor in his tone shifts to something deeper, more serious.
William listens to Blake and EJ performing their ballad, his expression softening. Then he turns to me, extending his hand in a simple gesture that feels monumental.
"Dance with me?"
The request is quiet, almost shy—so unlike his usual confidence. My heart hammers against my ribs as I stare at his outstretched palm.
I hesitate. "William, we shouldn't—"
"Dancing is harmless," he says, eyes never leaving mine. "Just a dance, Violet."
Nothing about us has ever been "just" anything. But I take his hand anyway, letting him pull me to my feet. We move to the corner of the room, far enough from the makeshift stage that we're partially shadowed.
He finds my waist, his hand warm and solid through the thin fabric of my blouse. I settle my own hand on his shoulder and the firm muscle beneath. We begin to sway, not quite in time with the ballad Blake and EJ are singing, but to some rhythm only we can feel.
"This is nice," William murmurs, pulling me slightly closer.
"It's dangerous," I correct him, but I don't pull away.
His hand splays across my lower back, large and protective. "I miss this. I miss you." His voice drops lower. "I miss the way you smell. The way you feel. The little crease you get between your eyebrows when you're thinking too hard."
I swallow hard. "William..."
"I know." He presses his forehead against mine. "I know all the reasons. I still miss you."
We're barely dancing now, just swaying in place, our bodies close enough that his body heat radiates off him. He traces small circles against my back, each tiny movement sending shivers up my spine.
The song ends, and Blake turns, catching us in our intimate moment. His expression shifts subtly—understanding, protective. Before EJ can turn around, Blake claps him on the shoulder.
"Let's go try that crane game downstairs," he says, steering the young driver toward the door. "I saw a limited edition racing helmet plush I want to win."
"But I was going to—"
"Trust me, you want to see this game. It's rigged, but I know the trick."
Blake glances back at us as he ushers EJ out, a small smile on his lips. William mouths "thank you" as the door closes behind them.
"We'll be back in half an hour," Blake calls, and then they're gone, leaving us alone in the quiet room.