Chapter 21 Nathan
Chapter Twenty-One
Nathan
I have no idea what we’ve eaten or drunk during this elaborate dinner at the best restaurant in the hotel.
Not one clue.
The plates are cleared now, and the wine glasses have been replaced. The servers are doing their silent ballet around us—but none of it sticks.
All I know is I don’t want the night to end.
Adrianna looks perfect.
Soft. Warm. Real.
Fucking stunning in that skin tight ivory dress.
She looks like she belongs here with me, in this light, surrounded by music and city glow.
And even better? It’s like no time at all has passed.
I mean, obviously it has.
We’re both older.
She’s more mature.
A woman now.
Curvy. Real. Breathtaking.
Not the slip of a girl I once knew. I know she’s a little self-conscious, but I don’t know why.
She’s fucking perfect.
As for me? I know I’m older, but I feel like a fumbling teenager when I’m with her. That’s not a bad thing.
She’s just so damn beautiful, it’s almost too much.
Those eyes.
That body.
Her killer smile.
The way she licks her lips after she sips her wine.
The easy laughter that bubbles up out of her from nowhere leaves me yearning for more.
Hopefully, I’m a little wiser now. I mean, I know I am because whether Adrianna knows it or not, I am all in this time around.
The second she said I do I felt it. The shift. Like a lock sliding into place.
Only it’s a welcomed one. Not a jail. Not a prison. Or a life sentence.
Some jokers refer to marriage like that, but not me.
To me, it’s more like the first freedom I’ve known in years.
Truth is, I’ve missed this. Her. Us.
We tease each other so easily.
We banter like we never stopped.
It’s flirtatious, addictive, and more dangerous than she realizes.
God, I want my hands on her.
It feels less like a desire and more like a biological imperative at this point.
So when the DJ announces the dance floor is open, I stand and offer her my hand.
Half hoping, half praying she says yes.
And I know Ad.
She loves music as much as I do.
So when the beat drops—smooth, rhythmic, perfect—I watch her warm, velvety eyes start to sparkle. That look alone almost drops me to my knees.
Then she gives me her hand.
I pull her up slowly.
Intentionally.
Dragging her across my body so she feels exactly what she does to me.
And no one else has ever done that—not like this.
My exes would testify under oath that I’m the coldest bastard alive.
But Adrianna?
She’s a shock to my nervous system.
A welcomed one. A needed one.
Ever since I laid eyes on her again, the music inside me—the music that’s been dead for years—has started humming. Soft at first. Then louder.
And tonight?
It’s a full-on fucking symphony inside my head.
I pull her close, my hands settling on her waist. She melts against me, warm and sweet, fitting into my arms like we were carved to match.
We sway. Slowly.
Her head near my chest.
Her breath brushing my throat.
And I swear—I’m about to say it.
I’m about to tell her I didn’t marry her for Bella, or nostalgia, or obligation.
I’m about to confess that I have always, only, belonged to her.
That she’s the reason I came home.
She’s the reason I fucking breathe.
The only constant melody in a life of noise.
It’s right there.
Right on my tongue.
And then—tap.
Someone taps my shoulder.
I freeze. I pull back slightly, and when I turn around, I’m staring into a pair of very familiar eyes.
“Mars?” I blink. “Motherfucker! How are you doing?”
DJ Mars—one of the biggest synth music producers on the damn planet—grins at me, clapping my shoulder.
“Thought that was you, Thorn. Didn’t you say you’d never come back to play Vegas?”
“Yeah, well,” I laugh, “shit changes.”
He shifts his gaze to Adrianna and instantly turns the charm to full blast.
Prick.
“And who is this beautiful young lady? I don’t know what he said to convince you to dance with him, linda, but I guarantee I can say it better.”
What the fuck? Is this motherfucker flirting with my wife?
My wife.
Heat punches into my gut—sharp, ugly, possessive.
Adrianna looks stunned.
“Are you—I'm sorry, you must get this a lot—but are you really DJ Mars?”
I stare at her because what the hell? She’s never been into club music.
Mars winks. “That’s right, but you can call me David. David Mars.”
He holds out his hand.
She takes it.
And he doesn’t let go.
A flicker of starstruck awe lights up her face.
My stomach drops—but then she says, “My niece Bella loves your music!”
Oh. Okay.
That tracks.
He’s got songs all over teen dramas and TikTok choreographies.
Mars beams. “Bella, huh? I like her already.”
Then he turns to me.
“You mind if I cut in, Thorn? I’d like to talk more with—sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”
“She didn’t throw it,” I growl.
Adrianna stammers, “I’m Adrianna, Nathan’s, um—”
“My wife,” I finish for her.
Mars lifts his eyebrows in surprise—and respect.
“Wife? Well, congratulations. Now you have to let me cut in. If only because you already won, you lucky bastard.”
“Oh wow, that would be great!” Adrianna says, smiling.
And the bottom drops out of my stomach.
My wife of exactly two hours steps away from me and into another man’s orbit.
What the actual fuck is going on?
But I can’t act like a jealous Neanderthal.
Not here.
Not now.
So I nod stiffly and step back.
And I stand there—hands fisted, jaw clenched—watching my brand-new wife dance with another man.
And suddenly?
My jealousy isn’t subtle anymore.
It’s a goddamn wildfire in my chest.