1. Liliana #3
He belongs to so many people. Tonight, right now, he’s only looking at me.
“Ugh. And there you go again.” Danica drains her glass and pulls a face. “That’s my cue. I refuse to third-wheel whatever is about to happen, and it is very clearly about to happen.”
She’s already stepping back as Tristan peels away from his conversation and starts cutting a path toward us. I can only laugh at her complaints.
“Evening, lover boy,” she throws at him as he arrives. “She’s all yours. Please, for the love of God, wait until I’ve left the building.”
“No promises.” He grins at her. “Bye, Danica.”
“Rude.” But she’s smiling as she disappears into the crowd, leaving me alone with my husband and the last of my composure.
His hands find my waist the second she’s gone, drawing me in until there’s barely a breath between us. “I am so over this night,” he says, low, right against my temple. “How much longer do we have to be here before it counts as us being good people?”
“We just got here.”
“That can’t be true. It feels like a decade.
” One of his hands slides from my waist down over the curve of my hip, then lower, thumb pressing into the small of my back and dipping past where it has any business going in a room this public.
“You look unfairly good in this dress. Have I mentioned that? I’ve been thinking about it for hours. ”
I press my palm flat to his chest and push, gentle. “Cameras, Tristan. Eyes. Every single one of them is on you.” I nod at the photographer working the far corner, the donors pretending not to watch country music’s crown prince paw at his wife. “Behave. I told you already.”
“I’ve been behaving.” But he leans in, his mouth grazing the shell of my ear, his voice dropping to a tone only I can hear. “Come with me. Somewhere with fewer eyes.”
I pull back just far enough to look at him. His eyes are hooded, the teasing burned off into pure intent, and the answering pull runs all the way down to my heels.
There are a hundred reasons to smile politely and stay put. We’re two of the most watched people in this building, standing in the middle of a ballroom that paid good money to have us here. I feel every reason and I ignore every one.
I know it’s selfish, wanting him this badly when a room full of people came here for a piece of him too. But I’ve spent our whole marriage sharing him, with the world, with the studio, with everyone who’s ever wanted him. I’ve made my peace with it. It’s the life we chose.
But tonight I want my husband back, just for me because I know that tomorrow, I might have to hand him over again.
And there’s really only one way this ends. We both already know it.
Tristan catches my hand. We slip along the edge of the room without a word, ducking out a side door the second no one’s looking, two people who have gotten very good at disappearing.
The world tilts and then it’s gone, the ballroom and the lights and the eyes swallowed whole the second the door bangs shut behind us. The lock turns with a soft click under his fingers and my heart slams against my ribs at the sound of it.
His hands are already on me, walking me backward into the cramped little room until my spine hits the wall and a rack of coats swings, rattling beside my shoulder. Fur brushes my bare arm. A hanger clatters to the floor and neither of us looks.
“We can’t keep doing this,” I gasp against his mouth, already breathless, already lying.
“Too late.” He smiles into the kiss, then drops his lips to my jaw, my throat, murmuring it again into my skin. “Way too late for that.”
We stay that way in the dark, greedy and quiet, kissing each other as if we’re brand new, as if we’re nineteen and reckless and out of time. His hands map me, mine map him. The music from the ballroom hums faintly through the wall and neither of us cares.
When we finally slow, he rests his forehead against mine, both of us breathing hard, his thumbs stroking my cheekbones. He presses a kiss to my forehead, soft, reverent, and lets it linger there.
“I love you,” he says quietly. “You make me happy.”
My chest cracks wide open. I wind my arms around his neck and pull him in, tucking my face against his chest, and I hold on. Under my cheek his heart is pounding, quick and strong, the rhythm I’ve fallen asleep to a thousand times, the one thing in my whole life that has never once let me down.
“I love you too.” My voice comes out unsteady. “Promise me we’ll stay like this.”
He draws back and takes my face in both hands, tilting it up until I have nowhere to look but at him. His eyes are steady. Sure. Certain enough for both of us.
“I promise,” he says.
And I look up into my husband’s eyes and I believe him.
Every stubborn, foolish piece of me believes him.
It isn’t easy, loving Tristan Everett. It never has been. There are the late nights and the empty beds, the ache of a love that has to stretch itself around everyone else who wants him, the quiet fear that one day the distance won’t close back up.
But then there are nights such as this one. Days like today. His heart pounding under my cheek, his arms locked around me as if letting go isn’t an option, his promise still warm in the dark between us.
And in these moments, I remember why I chose him, why I keep choosing him, why I’d do it all again without a second thought.
In these moments, it might just be worth it.
For once, I let myself believe it will last forever.