Twenty One #2
“Duty calls,” I say, slipping my hand into his and pulling him toward the crowd.
“Duty,” he echoes, a trace of amusement in his voice. “Right.”
The bar is a beacon, glowing softly against the chaos of the party like it’s calling out to me. Luring me in.
I make my way toward it like a woman on a mission. My head is pounding so hard in my chest, it could give the bass of the music a run for its money. And if I have to smile for one more photo or answer one more prying question, I might actually scream.
What I need right now is a drink—a large, strong drink. A double, at least.
As I approach, I spot Danny leaning against the counter, his tie loosened, his shirt untucked at the waist, and his cheeks flushed with what I estimate is his fourth—maybe fifth—scotch. He looks every bit the disheveled, older brother, and it’s a sight so familiar it almost makes me smile.
“Well, if it isn’t the bride-to-be,” he drawls, lifting his glass in a mock toast. His voice is laced with that signature mix of sarcasm and affection that only Danny can pull off.
“Don’t start,” I warn, sliding onto the stool beside him. My tone comes out sharper than I intend, but I’m too frazzled to soften it. “I’m not in the mood.”
Danny’s lips twitch into a smirk as he swirls the ice in his glass. “Touchy tonight, aren’t we? Is mum’s big night getting to you?”
I let out a heavy sigh, pressing my fingertips to my temples. “You could say that.”
For a moment, we sit in silence, the muffled hum of the party swirling around us. The clinking of glasses, bursts of laughter, and the low thrum of the DJ’s music create a bubble of sound that somehow feels distant.
Danny is the first to break the silence. His tone is softer this time, almost kind. “You ok, kid?”
I glance at him, momentarily caught off guard by the genuine concern in his voice. “I’m fine,” I lie, though my rigid shoulders and the way my hand trembles slightly as I reach for my drink betray me.
Danny lets out a slight chuckle. “When a woman says she’s fine, we all know she's anything but.”
He doesn’t buy it. He never does. Danny has this irritatingly uncanny ability to see straight through me, even when I’m convinced I’ve put up an impenetrable wall.
That's why he's a successful barrister I suppose.
“You know,” he says, leaning back in his chair and swirling his whiskey like a man pondering life’s great mysteries, “big parties like this have a way of making you think about things you’d rather not.”
I raise an eyebrow, though I can’t quite hide my curiosity. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shrugs, his gaze fixed on the amber liquid in his glass. “Just . . . marriage. It’s not all fairy lights and champagne, Mia. It’s work. And sometimes, it’s a hell of a lot of work.”
Something about his tone makes my chest tighten. Danny, for all his flaws, is rarely this serious. He’s the joker, the guy who can make light of just about anything. But right now, there’s a weight to his words that I can’t ignore.
“Danny . . .” I trail off, unsure of what to say. Unsure if I even want to know where this is going.
He looks at me then, really looks at me, and the sharp edges of his usual smirk are gone. In their place is something raw, something vulnerable. “I love Claire. I do. But sometimes love isn’t enough, you know? Sometimes, it just magnifies the cracks instead of filling them.”
His words hit me like a suckerpunch to the gut. I’m not sure if it’s because of the honesty in his voice or because they mirror the thoughts I’ve been trying so hard to suppress.
“"Why are you telling me this now?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Danny gives a dry laugh, but it’s hollow, lacking any real humor. “Because I’m your big brother, and it’s my job to look out for you. Even if it’s just to tell you not to make the same mistakes I did.”
Mistakes.
To the outside world, Danny and Claire look like the happiest couple in the world. It’s the type of marriage that you would aspire to have.
This is all news to me.
I frown, my stomach twisting in knots. “Danny . . . are you saying you regret getting married?”
He hesitates, and the silence that follows is deafening.
Finally, he shakes his head, though it’s more of a reluctant gesture than a definitive answer.
“I regret not fixing what needed fixing before we walked down the aisle. Marriage doesn’t magically solve problems, Mia.
If anything, it amplifies them. Don’t rush into anything. Make sure it’s what you really want.”
The irony isn’t lost on me.
This whole engagement—this entire party—is a charade, a lie we concocted to keep up appearances.
And yet, as I sit here, with Danny’s words echoing in my head, I can’t help but feel like they’re hitting too close to home.
“Thanks for the pep talk,” I say lightly, trying to shake off the weight of his words. I force a smile, but it feels brittle, like it might shatter at any moment.
Danny smirks, and for a brief second, he’s back to being the brother I know—the one who teases me mercilessly and ruffles my hair just to annoy me. Which is exactly what he does now. “That’s what I’m here for, kid. To mess with your head and make your life harder.”
I roll my eyes, but there’s no real annoyance behind it. “Mission accomplished.”
As I walk away, his words cling to me like a second skin, wrapping around my thoughts and refusing to let go.
The doubts, the fears, the what-ifs—they all come rushing in, and for the first time tonight, I feel like I’m drowning.
I glance back at Danny, still leaning against the bar, his expression distant and his glass that was full when I walked over to him is nearly empty. He looks . . . tired. Not physically, but in a way that makes my heart ache for him. For whatever it is he’s not saying.
The night slows to a softer rhythm as the DJ announces the next song, something romantic and timeless. The kind of song meant to make you forget where you are, who’s watching, and lose yourself in the arms of someone you care about.
I stay on the edge of the marquee, my champagne flute forgotten on a nearby table, as couples begin to drift onto the dance floor. Parents, grandparents, young lovers—everyone is swept into the moment.
And then I hear his voice behind me.
“Mia.”
I turn, and there he is.
Austin.
He is standing tall and unflinching. His tie undone and shirt slightly wrinkled. His dark eyes lock onto mine, their usual playfulness subdued, replaced by something far more serious.
“Dance with me.”
It’s not a question.
He holds out a hand, his palm open, steady, waiting. My instinct is to pull back, to retreat behind my carefully constructed walls and let the distance between us grow.
But something in his gaze stops me, something vulnerable and raw that makes it impossible to say no.
I take his hand.
Austin leads me onto the dance floor, weaving through the crowd until we’re standing in the center.
The soft croon of The Way You Look Tonight by Tony Bennett swells around us, and for a moment, everything and everyone falls away.
He pulls me close, his hand resting lightly on the small of my back while the other holds mine firmly.
Our bodies meld together, fitting so naturally it’s almost unfair.
His warmth seeps through the fabric of my dress, and I feel the strength in his hold, like he’s anchoring me, daring me to let go of my fears.
I try to keep my distance, to avoid meeting his gaze, but Austin doesn’t let me. “Look at me,” he murmurs, his voice low and coaxing.
Reluctantly, I lift my eyes to his, and the intensity there makes my breath catch. It’s not just the usual easy charm or teasing grin. It’s him—stripped bare, unguarded, and so achingly honest it makes my chest ache.
“You’ve been somewhere else tonight,” he says softly, his words for me alone, despite the dozens of eyes watching us now. “Talk to me, Mia. Tell me what’s going on.”
I shake my head, trying to pull away, but he tightens his hold just enough to keep me close. “Austin, please . . .”
“Please, what?” His tone is gentle but firm, the edge of desperation bleeding through. “Please stop trying to get through to you? Please stop caring? I can’t, Mia. So if you want to keep pushing me away, you’re going to have to try a hell of a lot harder.”
The tears I’ve been holding back threaten to spill, and I blink them away furiously, my throat tightening as the weight of his words crashes over me.
“Austin, this is just...” I trail off, my voice barely above a whisper. “This is all so much. I don’t know how to do this.”
His expression softens, and he leans in just enough that his forehead brushes mine. “You don’t have to know, Mia. You just have to let me in. Christ, I can’t believe we are back here again.”
I sniff back tears.
The music crescendos, and we sway together, the rest of the world fading into the background. I can feel the eyes of the crowd on us, my mum’s delighted smile, the hushed murmurs of guests who think this is some grand, romantic gesture.
But all I can focus on is Austin and the way he holds me like I’m the only thing that matters.
As the song draws to a close, he tilts his head slightly, his lips brushing against my temple. The touch is featherlight, but it sends a shiver down my spine, igniting something deep and terrifying inside me.
The applause from the crowd pulls us back to reality, and I step back abruptly. The loss of his touch is like a cold rush of air.
My heart is racing, my emotions tangled in knots, and I can see the questions in his eyes, the hurt he’s trying so hard to hide.
“I need some air,” I mumble, turning before he can stop me.
I weave through the guests, their congratulations and teasing smiles blurring into white noise as I make my way to the edge of the garden.
The cool night air hits me like a slap, but it does little to calm the storm inside.
Behind me, the music starts up again, another cheerful tune meant to get people back on their feet.
But I can’t go back.
Not yet.
Not when every part of me is screaming to run, even as my heart aches to stay.