Chapter 8
8
Amelia
Gage arrives fifteen minutes early to collect me for my parents’ party. The second I spot him stepping out of the elevator, I suspect mistakes were made. The moment he closes the distance between us, I know they were.
It turns out that Gage Black in a tuxedo is a whole situation.
Broad shoulders, precision tailoring, and the kind of presence that makes it hard to remember what day it is.
He smells expensive.
He looks like sex and danger dressed in formalwear.
He moves like the room already belongs to him.
His eyes sweep over me.
Slowly.
Thoroughly.
Deliberately.
And I feel it like a touch that lingers longer than it should.
Every cell in my body apparently got the memo that he’s hot. None consulted me.
“You look beautiful,” he murmurs.
I don’t have the bandwidth to fully appreciate that. I’m too busy holding myself together because this is a lot. And I made an error in not anticipating any of it.
Holy god.
This was supposed to be strategic. A neat solution to a James problem.
But then he showed up like this.
And now we have a situation.
“Thank you.” I try to gather myself. I really do. But it’s as if my entire body is staging an ambush, and I find myself throwing out, “You clean up disturbingly well yourself.”
Heat flashes in his eyes. Then comes the quiet quirk of his mouth. That smug little move that says he’s not going to let what I just said go. And that he’s going to enjoy every second of it. “That sounded suspiciously like a compliment.”
Abort. Abort. How did we get here and where is the reset button?
I wave him off, trying hard to look more in control than I am. “That was an outlier. It won’t happen again.”
That damn mouth of his just won’t let this go. It’s a full smirk now.
“That’s a shame,” he says, smooth, unhurried, and way too pleased with himself.
And, oh boy, we’re in new territory now.
The kind that’s far too sexy to be in with the father of my daughter’s best friend.
“Right,” I say, stumbling over my words as I attempt to steer us out of danger. “We should, ah, we should, go.”
His full smirk eases into a half-smirk, which I didn’t even know was a thing. This man doesn’t follow rules. He sets them. “What happened to the ten minutes of you bossing me around that I was looking forward to?”
Seriously.
He’s a whole-ass situation.
I stab at the call button for the elevator and give him a pointed look. “I’m going to ignore that.” Then I move right along, shifting us into safer territory. “How did you go getting Luna to sleep last night? Was she as hyped up as Sarah?”
His smirk is replaced with a knowing smile. He lets me have the out, though. “Yeah, it was pretty late when she finally fell sleep.”
In the elevator, the conversation flows. It’s light, comfortable, safe. Gage tells me Luna’s bowling. I mention Sarah’s at a sleepover. He’s relaxed and doesn’t miss a beat. Meanwhile, I’m over here trying to string words together and act normal while his scent rewires my nervous system.
I’m relieved when we exit the elevator and walk out to the sidewalk. I inhale as much fresh air as I can while Gage hands over the valet ticket. I also try to unscramble my scrambled thoughts.
And then I see his car.
Sleek. Dark. Sinfully low to the ground and completely unnecessary in this city.
Of course it’s a McLaren GT. And I only know that because my brother once called this car a “precision-built orgasm on wheels.”
Gage opens my door for me, and we exchange a glance as I get in. A glance that only bewilders me more.
Gone is the smugness. The teasing. The laid-back smile.
Now, there’s interest .
He’s taking his time enjoying me.
And good god.
I was not prepared for this.
Or for how much I like his attention.
I settle into the seat while he rounds the car, and it takes exactly three seconds for my brain to glitch out.
The leather is warm against my body. Soft, expensive, and entirely too intimate.
It’s his scent too. That lethal mix of something spicy and male and wholly unfair. It’s all through the car.
I remind myself that my olfactory response is primal. That pheromones are real. That this is just biology misfiring, not actual attraction.
And yet.
The thrum in my veins says otherwise.
So does the fact I just pressed my knees together.
This is fine.
Everything’s fine.
A moment later, Gage is in the car with me and we’re on our way.
We fill the time talking about my family. How long my parents have been married, my siblings, the fact that my parents requested no children at the party tonight. Gage appears surprised that not even Sarah is allowed, a sentiment I share.
And even though I’m still recovering from the full sensory experience he is tonight, I like talking with him. It’s easy. Gage’s calm energy grounds me.
And the way he handles traffic, completely unbothered? I like it a lot. He doesn’t fidget. Doesn’t check the time. Doesn’t sigh or tap the wheel like he’s too important to be stuck here. He just sits with one hand on the wheel, like he’s got all the time in the world to be with me.
When we arrive at my parents’ building, Gage pulls into the private drive. We leave the car with the valet and take the elevator up to their residence. The doors open into the foyer, and a few moments later, we step into the great room. Tonight, it’s been transformed into something closer to a ballroom. Towering florals, polished floors, a string quartet in the corner, and enough couture to rival fashion week.
I’m suddenly reminded of what I hate about these things.
The people.
Gage must sense my hesitation. His hand comes to the small of my back and he bends his mouth to my ear. “Everything okay?”
Yes.
No.
I stop and turn into him, and because he didn’t see that coming, he collides with me. His hands come to my hips to steady me, and honestly, this man should be banned from being in my presence.
It’s complete hormonal chaos inside me.
“Fuck,” he curses softly, caught off guard. “Sorry.”
“No, that’s on me,” I say as my brain malfunctions at the question of where to put my hands. They went straight to his abs when we crashed into each other.
I try to step back but there must be someone behind me because Gage’s hands tighten on my hips, keeping me right where I am, which is approximately way too close to him.
He nods to the person, waits until they pass, then lets me go. His gaze returns to mine, curious. Why did I suddenly turn around?
“I don’t do well at parties,” I confess. “It’s too many people, and too many”—I gesture with one hand while trying to find the right word—“expectations.”
I don’t think he’s surprised by my admission. “Okay, so we’re not staying too long.”
He says that like it’s simply a fact he’s updating in his mind. He’s not taking it as a decision to be argued over or a choice of mine that needs to be changed.
I’m not used to that. To someone hearing me and not trying to talk me out of what I need.
“That’s my preference.”
His response is immediate. “Well then, lead me to the food straight away because I only agreed to be your date for that.”
My head pulls back a little. “You agreed to be my date? I recall you forcing yourself upon me.”
“You can’t help it if your memory is hazy. It’s a good thing you’ve got me to remind you.”
I shake my head while trying not to laugh. “At the rate you’re going, I won’t be keeping you around.”
“Have you forgotten you’re stuck with me for a few weeks?”
It’s a simple question but the look in his eyes isn’t. There’s heat there for the second time tonight. I swear I’m not imagining it into existence.
My mother’s voice cuts through the moment.
“Darling, you’re here.” She leans in for air kisses. “You look lovely. Though, black again, Amelia? You know, color won’t kill you.”
I don’t respond. I never do when she says things like that. It’s easier to let it skim right over me than to explain my reasons.
My dress is black. Quietly elegant. It smooths itself over my body like it was custom-built to highlight every curve I usually hide. One bare shoulder. A sharp drape across my chest. A thigh slit that shows more leg than I’m usually comfortable with.
I chose it for her.
Not the color. I couldn’t go that far. But for the silhouette, the cut, the boldness. I thought maybe this time she’d approve. She’s always wanted me to be bolder. Brighter. To dazzle and own the room instead of trying to disappear into it.
Of course, this dress still isn’t enough. It never is.
Gage shifts beside me.
I don’t look, but I feel him. Tall, solid, and very, very quiet.
Mom looks at him. “Gage.” She smiles but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s lovely to meet you.”
She wasn’t thrilled when I told her last night that Gage would be my date instead of James, and she’s not trying hard to hide that from him.
He doesn’t appear fazed. He reaches for her offered hand and gives the kind of handshake that’s firm without trying to dominate. “Thank you for welcoming me into your home.”
Mom’s assessing gaze remains on him for only another moment before she glances at me. “Larry was asking about your next movie. Have you signed the contract yet?”
My mother has never supported my career. She always imagined something more spotlight-worthy. However, since the last film I scored didn’t just become a blockbuster but made me a name in the industry, she’s found it useful to know just enough to impress her friends.
“No, I’m?—”
Something catches her eye, and she places her hand on my arm to stop me. “Sorry, darling, I need to speak with Cathy.”
With that, she glides away.
My gaze follows her across the room, and I let out a slow breath while shaking off the moment. Shaking off the sting of it all.
I turn to Gage and reach for a distraction. “Okay, food?”
He doesn’t move. And the look in his eyes tells me he’s not about to. “Is that how things usually go with your mom?”
“She’s in entertaining mode.” I try to shrug it off like it’s nothing. But I know exactly what he’s asking, and I’m not sure I’m ready to get into that conversation.
I love my mother, and I know she loves me. But her way of showing love isn’t bandaging wounds, making comfort food, or pulling me in close when I fall. It’s about anticipating the wound before it happens, and doing everything in her power to make sure no one sees it.
That’s how she protects me and my brothers. By preventing mess. By controlling outcomes. And I’ve spent my entire life trying not to be a disappointment she has to clean up after.
Gage’s eyes burn with something fierce and unflinching. “She just disregarded you, Amelia. Twice. In the span of a couple minutes. And entertaining or not, that was her daughter she brushed off. Not a guest. Not a stranger. You .”
I go still.
Not because I disagree, but because I’m used to polite company. The kind that doesn’t name things like this.
I swallow down my rising emotions. I don’t hate that he named it; I’m just not used to talking about it with anyone but my brothers. “She wishes she had a daughter more like her.”
“In what way?”
“In all the ways.” When he simply continues watching me with that fierce look like he’s waiting for more, I elaborate. “Mom thinks I should try to stand out more. She thinks I’m too quiet, too modest, too... average, when she’d prefer I dress up and sparkle more.”
“She wants you to use your beauty more than your brains.”
Now, I really still.
He’s nailed it.
“Yes. And in answer to your original question, yes, she’s always like that.”
His eyes search mine for a long moment. Then, he curses quietly, but no less intensely than the way he’s watching me. “ Fuck .”
I nod slowly. “That about covers it.”
He works his jaw, and it looks like he’s trying hard to keep all his thoughts to himself now.
I offer him a smile. “Let’s forget that happened and move on to food. It is what you came here for, after all.”
I turn to walk further into the room but his hand wraps around my wrist and pulls me back. When he’s got his eyes on me again, he says, “I won’t forget that happened. And just so we’re on the same page here, food is the least of my priorities tonight.”
His words are like heat on bare skin.
Impossible to ignore and felt long after they’re spoken.
Before I can form a response, his grip shifts, sliding from my wrist to my hand. Deliberate but gentle. And then he threads our fingers together and guides me into the party.
Just like that, he’s in control.
Of the moment. Of me.
And I’m nothing short of bewildered by it all.
That he called my mother out when no one else ever has.
That he just made it clear he’s not here for the food.
That my hand is in his.
That I am here, at my parents’ anniversary party, with Gage Black, who up until just earlier this week was a man I wanted nothing to do with, but who I’m now finding difficult to take my eyes off.
That he just made it clear he’s not here for the food .
Somehow, I manage to keep my bewilderment to myself and smile at my parents’ friends like I’m not a hot mess on the inside as I follow Gage. He walks with purpose, his presence impossible to ignore. And the strangest sensation washes over me. For the first time at a party, I feel safe. Like I don’t have to be so on guard. I think Gage would step in if I needed him to.
I’m having a moment over these thoughts when my brother appears in front of us.
“Well, hello there, Sir,” he says as he runs his gaze down Gage’s body, blatantly appreciative. Tim never learned how to keep a thought to himself. His eyes sparkle as he looks at me. “You’ve been keeping secrets, sis. You never told us that Mr. Periodgate himself was now a permanent fixture in your life.”
If the floor swallowed me whole right now, I wouldn’t be mad about it.
My cheeks heat as Gage’s lips twitch and his gaze comes to me.
“Periodgate, huh?” he asks, and I want to tear that smirk from his face. I also want to shoot my brother.
After silencing Gage with a look , I glance at Tim. “He’s not a permanent fixture in my life.”
“I’d say I am,” Gage disagrees, and I just know he’s finding this immensely enjoyable. “Quite possibly for the rest of our lives,” he continues, and when I blink at him, he shrugs. “I don’t see Luna letting Sarah go any time soon.”
How my brain hadn’t put that together yet is a mystery to me.
“So,” Tim says, “what is this, then?” His eyes widen. “Wait. Is this to piss James off? I would throw my support behind that.”
“This is a fake date,” I explain.
“Fake is a harsh choice of words,” Gage says.
I cock my head. “What word would you use? Oh, wait. Let me guess. It’s a mercy date.”
“A tux is a hell of a lot of effort for a mercy date.”
Tim whistles low. “Hot damn. Is it getting hot in here, or is that just you two faking it?”
Some days, I really want to kill my brother.
I’m about to make a hard detour in this conversation, but the way Gage is now looking at me...I can’t look away.
There’s heat, and tension, and no faking in sight.
Tim says something else, but it’s just white noise.
I’m so lost in this moment with Gage.
My other brother saves the day.
“Earth to Amelia,” Colin says, snapping his fingers in front of my face. “Hello?”
It feels like it takes much longer than the actual seconds it takes to drag my attention from Gage. I look at Colin and try to find my words. “Hello. Yes. You’re here.”
He grins before glancing between me and Gage.
“This is Periodgate Gage,” Tim announces, like Colin has no idea who Gage is, and Colin’s grin grows.
Honestly, I don’t want brothers in my next life. Just give me dogs. Or cats. Or even jellyfish. Just keep the brothers away.
Gage and Colin are shaking hands, all very official like.
I’m planning mass brother extinction.
And Tim’s probably over there plotting how to make this even more mortifying for me.
“We heard you bought her enough pads and tampons to last the next few periods,” Colin says to Gage, and I want to die .
Gage appears entertained by the entire thing.
Before he can respond, Tim says, “How would you rate her ninja moves out of that bathroom? Ten out of ten? Or do you have some tips for the next time she has to be stealthy?”
“Oh my god,” I mutter. “Seriously, men would not cope if they had to endure periods.”
Tim shrugs. “I don’t know. How hard can it be?”
Gage holds his hands up in a surrender. “I’m backing out of this conversation now. It was nice knowing you two for a few minutes.”
Colin laughs. “Smart move. I’m following suit.”
Tim’s grinning at me. He knows full well I can never hold a grudge with him for long.
I shake my head at him. “You are dead to me.”
Tim’s phone alerts him to a text he’s just received, and after checking it, he says, “Sorry, I have to make a call.”
“Divine intervention,” Colin says after our brother walks away.
“Hopefully it’s one of his clients giving him hell,” I say.
Gage laughs. “What does he do?”
“He’s a paramedic.”
We get into a conversation with Colin after Gage asks him what he does. The two of them talk like they’ve known each other forever. It’s a skill my brother has. Both of them, actually. The ability to connect with ease and talk about anything. I was not blessed with the same ability. Networking and meeting people is awkward for me.
After Colin excuses himself to talk with one of our cousins, Gage says, “I like your brothers.”
“You like that they enjoy teasing me.”
“You told them about me.”
“I told them about my period .”
“And yet they know all about how I helped you.”
“We were texting at the time.” I pause before adding very firmly, “I swear, if you smirk again, I will make you regret it.”
He doesn’t stop watching me with that amusement, but he doesn’t smirk. And who knows what he would have said next if we weren’t interrupted by a server.
He offers a tray of appetizers. “Beef Wellington or seared scallops?”
I take the scallop and nod my thanks. Gage takes both.
“I’m surprised you didn’t ask for the entire tray,” I tease.
“I’m holding out for the tray with sliders,” he banters, scanning the room like he’s on a mission. “You know, real food.”
I laugh, and when his eyes return to mine, there’s a smile there. It’s easy, open, and free.
Never in a million years, would I have ever expected Gage to be like this. And I certainly wouldn’t have imagined just how much I enjoy spending time with him.
Feeling brave, and inspired by him to have some fun, I grab his hand while allowing a grin to spread across my face. “Come on, Mr. Periodgate, let’s get you some real food.”
His laughter trails behind me as I lead him to the server I saw carrying what my parents consider sliders.
“You think anything here comes with ketchup?” he deadpans after I pile mini brioche buns with truffle aioli and Wagyu beef onto a napkin for him.
“We may need to swing by McDonalds for you on the way home,” I deadpan back.
He laughs again and then leans in close. “You keep feeding me like this, and I’ll start thinking you like me.”
My pulse does something deeply inappropriate.
And while I’m having a moment over that, my ex-husband invades our party for two.
“Amelia,” he says, moving in close like he’s staking his territory. “Your father asked for us to stand together with him and your mother and brothers while he gives a little speech later.”
“No,” I say.
His brows draw together. “No?”
His confusion is actually warranted. I’ve never said a flat-out no to him.
“No,” I repeat, still not offering a reason.
“Amelia,” he starts in that condescending tone he likes to use with me. “You’re being unreasonable. I think?—”
He doesn’t get to finish.
Gage’s hand settles at the curve of my back, and when he speaks, it’s with the kind of unfuckwithable authority that makes people listen. “She said no. And I’d say it’s about time you listened to her.”
Holy. God.
When Gage Black decides to take charge, he doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t posture. He simply owns the moment .
It’s the kind of command that doesn’t ask for space. It claims it.
James goes rigid. Fury in his jaw, his shoulders, every line of his body.
He doesn’t get the chance to respond. Because Gage is already moving.
He presses his hand more firmly against my back. “Amelia and I were just about to dance.”
It’s clear in his tone what he’s not saying.
Back off. Stay gone. Don’t test me.
He dumps the bougie sliders on our way to the dancefloor. Uneaten. Forgotten. He guides us through the room, his hand never leaving my back. I go willingly, and not just because I’m glad to be away from James.
No, I want this.
I want to dance with Gage and I’m not putting that feeling in a box to be analyzed later like I would normally do.
I’m not overthinking this.
When we reach the edge of the dancefloor, he turns into me, slides his hand around my waist, and brings his other hand up. Slowly, palm open, inviting.
I place my hand in his.
And then, we’re dancing.
His eyes drop to mine, and there’s something new there.
Concern.
Restraint.
Like he’s reading me second by second, checking for signs of hesitation.
His thumb brushes lightly over my hand. “Tell me if you don’t want this.”
I’m held by the weight of his gaze.
My thoughts scatter.
Everything slows, especially my breathing.
He doesn’t want to push a boundary. He’s asking to honor it. It’s a line in the sand he’s offering me the power to draw.
I move in closer. “I want this.”
His grip on my waist tightens. Possessive almost. Like now that I’ve said yes, he’s done holding back.
We dance in silence. It doesn’t demand to be filled, but as one song bleeds into the next, the more aware of him I am.
Of how my body fits against his.
Of his scent that makes thinking hard.
Of his hand on my back.
His closeness.
The longer we dance, the harder it is to breathe evenly.
And the more my thoughts tangle.
Especially when he doesn’t say anything.
When he just holds me. Like none of this is dangerous.
By the time he speaks, my pulse is a riot and I’m half-convinced he can feel it.
His head tilts slightly as he murmurs, low and dry, “Your mom’s giving off strong royal court energy right now. Pretty sure she’s currently judging whether I’m worthy to be here with her daughter.”
It’s so unexpected, so perfectly timed, that it cracks the tension just enough for me to laugh. Not just because it’s funny. But because it’s so him. And that thought right there is something I know I’ll interrogate later.
I now know Gage well enough to know one of his signature moves. He breaks tension, not to escape it, but to hold space for it.
“Careful,” I warn with a smile. “She hears everything. You’re one insult away from being exiled from the kingdom.”
“It’d be worth it,” he says, voice lower now, “just for that laugh you gave me.”
What are we doing?
My hand slides a fraction higher at the nape of his neck, fingers threading into his hair. Just a little. Just enough to pretend it’s nothing. But the flare in his eyes tells me I’m lying to myself.
“You say that now,” I murmur as every other sound in this room fades away, “but you haven’t seen her silent treatment. It’s like winter in Siberia.”
“I can handle the cold.”
I let my fingers drift down, slow and idle, like my touch doesn’t have a motive. Like it’s not driving both of us mad.
“You don’t scare easy, do you?”
His voice is all gravel and intent when he says, “Not when I want something.”
There’s no air left between us. Only heat.
And I am this close to unraveling.
Gage is watching me closely. He’s made his move and is now letting me decide what to do with it.
And that’s the problem.
I don’t know what to do with it.
I’m not built for decisions made in the space of a single breath. I like time. Distance. A clear list of pros and cons. And preferably not decisions that come with ripple effects. That could touch my daughter if I get it wrong.
“I feel like I should have signed a waiver before agreeing to dance with you.”
“You still can.” His eyes do not let me go.
My lungs forget how to function.
Everything in me pulls tight. Conflicted.
I break eye contact first.
We can’t do this.
Inhaling a deep breath and fighting for rational thought, I meet his gaze again.
I clear my throat. “Thank you for helping me with James.”
He takes a long moment, eyes searching mine.
I hold my breath.
There’s an ocean of feelings in his eyes and I can’t tell what he’s going to do with them.
Finally, he nods and loosens his hold on me. “Any time.”
The disappointment I feel over his retreat is confusing. I asked for space, and he gave it to me. And yet, here I am, feeling all kinds of unexpected feelings over that.
God.
Did I want him to push? To ignore my line in the sand?
I’m so confused by these thoughts. I’ve never wanted a man to make a choice for me. Not once. And after being married to someone who always did, I swore off men like that.
I thought Gage was like him. I was wrong.
Gage Black doesn’t take without consent. Even when everything in his eyes says he wants to. And maybe that’s what undoes me the most.
Thankfully, the music stops, and my father appears with a microphone, ready to give his speech.
James doesn’t join me and my family for the speech.
I survive said speech.
And Gage and I ease back into safe conversation with no more dancing.
Later, after he’s dropped me home and I’m alone in bed dedicating good time to replaying every second of the night in my mind, I receive a text.
Gage:
I enjoyed myself tonight.
I stare at the message for approximately forever.
Unsure how to reply.
In the end, I don’t.
I need at least twelve more hours of thinking before I do that.