Im not yearning , you are
Chapter 54
Lorenzo
I lean my head back against the leather headrest of my Mercedes, the engine idling smoothly in the driveway. Staring down at my phone, a familiar irritation flares in my chest. I am completely official, thoroughly annoyed that I got forced into this stupid assignment.
Then, the front door opens.
Sophie steps out into the night, and the breath catches clean in my throat.
She looks entirely different. She is wearing a liquid, champagne-beige dress that drapes flawlessly down to her ankles, moving like water with every step she takes. The fabric catches the dim amber glow of the porch light, making her look otherworldly. Ethereal.
For a second, I completely forget how to breathe.
Jesus Christ.
She steps unsteadily in her high heels, her fingers nervously clutching a small bag against her chest. Before my brain can even process what I'm doing, I force myself to snap out of it. I throw the vehicle into park and step out into the cold night air, drawn toward her like a magnet.
"You're late," I say bluntly as she reaches the passenger side. My voice sounds rougher than usual, completely devoid of the smooth confidence I usually command. It's a defense mechanism, and I know it. I'm just trying to hide the fact that my heart is suddenly hammering violently against my ribs.
Sophie stops, her bright eyes flashing up to meet mine. She bites her lower lip, a nervous habit I've realized she only does when she's deeply uncomfortable.
"Oh, shut up," she snaps back, her cheeks flushing. "You try walking in these heels."
"Whatever. Get in," I mutter, pulling the heavy door open for her.
As she climbs inside, her scent instantly hits the cabin.
It isn't a heavy, expensive perfume like the ones Vivien drowns herself in.
It smells like vanilla, clean laundry, and rain.
It fills the small space between us, wrapping around me, making my chest tighten with a sudden, hollow ache I can't even begin to explain.
I want to look away from her, but I can't.
I'm just about to reach for the gear shift, my hand lingering in the space between us, when a sudden, sharp KNOCK echoes against the passenger-side window.
Both of us flinch, startled out of the heavy silence. Sophie gasps slightly, her wide eyes darting to the glass. Outside, the silhouette of Clara is standing under the dim porch light, waving frantically.
Sophi quickly rolls down the window, the cool autumn air rushing into the warm cabin.
"What?" she wispers, a trace of panic in her voice.
"You forgot this, sweetie," Clara says, pushing a sleek, black umbrella through the open window and into Sophie's lap. "I just checked the weather app. It's supposed to start pouring down rain in the city later tonight. You don't want to ruin that beautiful dress."
Clara's eyes briefly shift to me, giving me a long, calculating look from the driveway before she pats the side of the car. "Drive safely!"
"Thanks, Clara," Sophie murmurs. Her cheeks flush a light shade of pink as she rolls the window back up, clutching the plastic handle of the umbrella tightly against her satin gown.
The drive is dead silent.
The heavy bass of the radio hums softly in the background, a low vibration that does nothing to ease the tension in my chest. I clench my jaw, forcing my eyes to stay locked on the dark road ahead.
Stop it,I tell myself fiercely.Snap the fuck out of it.
The moment I park the G-Wagon near the main entrance of the imposing art gallery, she doesn't even wait for me to kill the engine. She throws her door open and steps out, her breath catching as she looks up at the massive structure.
"Wow... it looks so much bigger than in the pictures," she murmurs, completely awestruck.
"It usually does, stalker," I reply smoothly, slipping my hands into the pockets of my tailored trousers as I step out into the cool evening air.
I walk around the hood of the car, and we make our way up the grand, sweeping marble stairs. Sophia is walking stiffly. The tight satin of her dress and those dangerously high heels are clearly giving her trouble, but her stubborn pride prevents her from asking for my hand.
I secretly enjoy watching the gentle sway of her hips as she fights the gravity of the steps.
When we reach the top, a polished gentleman in a pristine suit immediately steps forward to greet us.
"Mr. Calloway! What an absolute pleasure to see you," he beams, before turning his wide smile toward Sophie, who steps up beside me, slightly out of breath. "And you must be..."
"Miller... Sophia Miller, Sir" she gasps out, offering him her hand with a polite but nervous smile.
"Delighted to meet you, Miss Miller. Frank Mitchell," he introduces himself, gesturing for us to follow him inside the grand foyer. "It is a monumental honor that your family is considering our gallery for your one-hundred-year celebration, Mr. Calloway."
He guides us into a magnificent side hall. Sophia's eyes go wide, her gaze darting up to the intricately carved marble columns and the breathtaking, frescoed ceilings above. She looks like a kid stepping into a fairy-tale castle.
"I won't take up too much of your time," Mr. Mitchell says, handing each of us a set of glossy blueprints and a small informational booklet.
"Here is the layout of the gallery. Your mother explicitly requested that we clear the wing for you, so you both can have a quiet, undisturbed walk-through to finalize the design plans."
"Thank you," I murmur, keeping my voice detached but polite.
"I must remind you, however, to maintain a strict safety distance from the artwork. The laser security systems are incredibly sensitive," he warns with a knowing smile.
"Understood."
I turn toward the grand exhibition hall and lightly nudge Sophie forward.
The first room, acting as a grand vestibule, is already visually staggering.
Towering marble pillars stretch toward the high ceiling, flanked by massive historical oil paintings.
Above us, the colossal skylight shows the dark, bruised purple of the stormy night sky, casting dramatic shadows across the polished floor.
THUD.
The massive wooden doors close behind us, locking us into total isolation. The heavy sound echoes through the high ceilings, sealing the outside world away. We are completely alone.
"Oh my God, isn't this so cool?" She beams. Her face lights up with a brilliant, unrefined joy as she spins around to look at me.
"What?" I ask, my voice dropping a fraction lower, caught off guard by the sheer brightness of her smile.
"The fact that we are entirely alone in here. No one is standing in front of the art."
She smiles radiantly for a single, fleeting second before reality seems to slap her in the face.
She remembers who she's talking to, remembers that she's supposed to despise me and the beautiful grin vanishes from her lips instantly, replaced by her usual defensive mask.
"Anyway... I think this room is stunning."
"Yeah. Let's move into the main gallery," I reply, fighting the urge to smirk at how easily I can rattle her.
We step through the arched entryway, and Sophia lets out another soft gasp.
"Oh my God..."
She practically drifts into the center of the room, completely mesmerized. "This is unbelievable."
A breathtaking smile spreads across her face, stretching from ear to ear as she wanders toward the largest canvas in the hall.
While I walk the perimeter of the room, mentally calculating if the square footage is sufficient for the massive guest list my mother has planned, Sophie remains completely frozen in front of the artwork.
The ambient twilight from the skylight hits her blonde hair, illuminating her profile like she is a part of the exhibition herself.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" she whispers, her voice breathless and fragile in the quiet hall.
"Yes." I admit. "Beautiful"And before I can register what I just said I catch myself tracking the line of her neck, the curve of her exposed shoulders, completely captivated by the raw emotion on her face. For minutes, she just stares at the painting, entirely oblivious to the weight of my gaze.
In this light, stripped of her armor and her anger, she is magnificent. The realization hits my chest like a physical blow, cracking something wide open that I've spent months trying to keep locked down.
When I notice her leaning in just a fraction too close to the frame, my instincts kick in before my pride can stop me.
I step up behind her, my chest almost brushing her bare back. When I gently press my hand against the small of her spine, anchoring her in place.
"Be careful," I murmur near her ear, my voice low and gravelly. "Remember the security system. One more inch and the alarms go off."
Our eyes meet in the reflection of the glass covering the painting. For a breathless, agonizing second, neither of us moves.I can feel the frantic flutter of her pulse beneath her skin.
She breaks the connection first, looking away quickly. "Oh... right," she snaps out of her trance.
The moment she realizes how dangerously close we are she frantically stumbles back a few steps. Her cheeks flush a deep, furious crimson.
And rushes over to the opposite side of the hall, pointing at another massive piece. "Look at this painting! Oh my gosh, do you know how many years it must have taken the artist to finish something this detailed?"
I keep my distance, leaning back against a marble pillar, silently observing her every move as she rambles to cover the silence. My hand still burns from where I touched her.
What is it about this girl?
"Shall we check the room where the dance floor is supposed to be?" I ask eventually.
Without waiting for her answer, I turn on my heel and walk through the next set of double doors.
"Yes, I see it!" her voice echoes a moment later as she enters the grand ballroom.
I turn around to give her the dimensions, but the words die in my throat.
"What the hell are you doing?"
Sophie is casually unbuckling her designer heels, stepping out of them without a care in the world.
"Testing the floor to see if it's a good dance surface," she defends herself, flashing a mischievous grin.
I watch in a mixture of bewilderment and secret fascination as she lets the shoes clatter onto the marble floor.
Barefoot and entirely unbothered, she walks into the exact center of the vast, empty ballroom.
She closes her eyes, lifts her arms, and begins to spin, dancing to a melody only she can hear.
She looks as if it is her first time on this earth.
She is a whirlwind of passion and chaos, and I can't bring myself look away. Watching her move like that so free, so utterly unbothered by the heavy expectations of our world does something wicked to my chest.
A dangerous, possessive ache tightens in my gut, and for the first time in my life, the terrifying truth stares me right in the face. I had promised myself I would hate her. I had built walls, fortresses, an entire identity designed to keep someone like her out.
But looking at her now, I have to admit it to myself.
She is the weakness.
My only weakness.
I can't stop the realization that this girl is rewriting my entire system, breaking through my defenses whether I fucking like it or not. She is completely lost in her own world, and all I want is to be the one in it.
Slowly, I walk over to her abandoned heels, bending down to pick them up by the delicate straps.
Carrying them loosely in one hand, I tuck my other hand into my pocket and lean back against a massive marble column.
My collar feels tight; I loosen my tie and undo the top buttons of my shirt, my dark gaze tracking her every move as she spins under the warm glow of the chandeliers.
Stop,the rational voice in my head commands, screaming at me to Tell her to stop.
But the words never reach my lips. My heart flatly refuses to cooperate, stubbornly holding my tongue captive because it doesn't want her to stop.
But as if she heard my thoughts she opens her eys.
"Yep. Perfect," she finally declares, coming to a stop and looking down at the gleaming floor.
She wipes a stray blonde strand from her face, her breathing slightly elevated.
"I think your mom is going to absolutely love it. I'm just not sure how many of the round banquet tables can actually fit into the entrance hall."
"That's not our problem," I say. My voice is steady, but it takes every ounce of my control to keep it that way.
I step away from the column and walk directly toward her, closing the distance until I am standing just inches away. I look down into her wide, expressive eyes before extending my hand, offering her the shoes.
"The catering team will handle the logistics. We are only here to see if the venue is worth the price."
Sophie looks down at the heels in my hand, then up at my face. A soft, suffocating tension hums between us, thick enough to choke on.
"Well," she whispers, her voice losing its defensive edge for a fraction of a second.
"I definitely say yes."
A low, dangerous rumble starts in my throat.
"Yes to what, Sophie?" I murmur. My voice drops into a rough whisper as my eyes trail down to her lips, then slowly trace their way back up to her wide, breathless gaze. "The room? Or something else?"
She freezes, her throat bobbing as she swallows hard. The fierce, stubborn girl who usually has a sharp comeback for everything is completely gone, replaced by a beautiful, panicked stillness. For a split second, I think she's going to use this whole night as an excuse to punish me.
But she doesn't.
I slowly sink to one knee on the cold marble floor.
The second I reach out, her eyes widen in sheer panic. She immediately pulls her foot back a few inches. "What are you doing? I can put them on myself," she stammers, reaching down to wrestle the straps from my grip.
But I don't let go. Instead, I look up at her through my lashes, forcing a faint, mocking smirk onto my lips to hide the violent hammering in my chest.
"What's the matter, Miller? Nervous?"
"I'm not nervous!" she snaps. Her voice rings out a bit too loud, echoing sharply against the soaring ballroom walls.
The sudden volume catches her off guard. Her cheeks flush an even deeper, furious shade of crimson, and she bites her lower lip, realizing she just completely gave herself away.
"Right. Clearly," I murmur softly.
I reach out again, my fingers wrapping firmly but gently around her bare ankle.
A sharp jolt of heat spikes straight up my arm at the contact, making my jaw clench.
Sophia lets out a shaky, shallow breath, her hand involuntarily dropping onto my shoulder for balance as I carefully slide the high heel back onto her foot.
Why the hell I'm doing what I'm doing, I don't know.
To find a desperate excuse just to be close to her?
Maybe.
To figure out what this terrifying, suffocating feeling in my chest is?
Probably.