CHAPTER 8 #2
Mustard-yellow silk, midi length, long sleeves. Modest cut. Nothing sharp, nothing daring. The color doesn’t shout or demand attention. And yet it wraps her in this soft, intimate glow, like something meant to be seen only up close.
I’ll admit it. I’d imagined her differently. Something lower cut. Something body-hugging. Something that invited attention, dared it.
But this is much worse. This feels like a private provocation. The fabric doesn’t cling, yet it follows her movements like water, like silk learning the shape of her body. And before I can stop myself, I’m imagining what it would feel like under my fingers, what it would feel like to push it aside.
The thought hits hot and immediate. I crush it, clamp it down hard.
At the restaurant, my control was already fraying.
I barely held on then - seated, contained, protected by a table and distance.
Now she’s standing, moving with the music.
And I don’t know how I’m supposed to survive the rest of the night like this.
In this heat. In her presence that consumes all available air.
Stefano finishes his water and heads back to Gigi. The two of them melt together effortlessly, stepping into the slow beat. Caroline watches them and smiles, bright and open.
And then, a guy approaches her. He is not from our group, just a stranger emboldened by the music, the lights, and the confidence of alcohol and foolishness. Elena has already been swept away by a friend from boarding school.
And whatever fragile balance I’d managed to rebuild shatters completely. My legs move before my brain catches up.
“May I?” I tap the guy’s shoulder.
He turns, eyebrow lifting in mild challenge. “She’s taken,” he says lightly, glancing at Caroline.
Caroline watches us.
I step closer, my voice dropping. “She’s not interested.”
I don’t bother masking it. I give him a look that promises consequences. He hesitates and pushes back, just slightly.
“Buddy,” I say, deadly quiet, “she’s out of your reach.”
I pull Caroline’s hand free and lean in, my words for him alone. “Step aside before I decide to make this unpleasant.” I continue before I’ve fully formed the thought in my head. “I wouldn’t mind bloody-ing you up so badly that your mother won’t even fucking recognize you.”
That’s all it takes. He disappears.
Caroline turns to me, looking amused. Without a word, I take her hand and guide her deeper into the dance floor.
She studies me for a beat, “You don’t normally ask girls to dance, do you?”
“Haven’t in a while and usually, I don’t have to,” I admit.
She huffs a soft laugh. “You are very confident. Cocky. I like that.”
Our feet barely move. We fall into a slow, rhythmic shuffle, circling each other in tight proximity. Our bodies settle into the rhythm, close - so close. Her hands come to rest on my shoulders as mine find her waist. I feel Stefano’s gaze burning into the back of my head, but I ignore it.
Caroline’s makeup is minimal, only dark kohl framing her green eyes and nude lipstick barely there. Her blonde and impossibly silky hair is down, spilling over her shoulders. There’s something deceptively simple about her tonight. And it’s intoxicating. It’s captivating. It’s dangerous.
Our hips sway in an unhurried, languid rhythm. The music softens, drops into something muted and sensual. Our bodies lock from chest to thigh, close enough that there’s no room for denial. I feel her heart racing fast, matching mine.
The silk of her dress whispers beneath my palm. The thought of pushing it aside and the bare skin beneath comes back, hot and dizzying.
I force a slow breath through my nose. What the fuck am I doing?
I look down at her as she gazes up at me. And she doesn’t look away. Our eyes lock. Her lips part, just slightly, like she’s about to…
Then Elena laughs loudly and calls out to us. The moment fractures. But it’s already too late.
The thought of the rain crashes back into me, vivid and relentless.
Two nights ago. The downpour. Caroline standing there, soaked through.
I’ve never been careless with desire. I’ve seen beauty, confidence, deliberate display.
None of it prepared me for her like that: a blouse turned into a second skin by the rain.
Fabric clinging ruthlessly to her shoulders, her chest, mapping every curve and hollow with merciless clarity.
My thoughts had vanished then. My logic dissolved as the world narrowed to her. And I realized, with a jolt that still hasn’t loosened its grip, that whatever this is between us has already been far beyond my control.
I’m stripped down to something embarrassingly simple: want. There’s no elegant language for it. There’s no composure left to hide behind. There’s no clever rationalization to dull the edge of it.
When Elena calls out to us, loud and insistent, I take the opening. I break the dance, gently but decisively, guiding Caroline back toward the group before I do something I can’t pretend my way out of.
But the heat doesn’t fade. It lingers beneath my skin, pulsing with every step.
Because no matter how carefully I retreat, the truth burns quietly beneath my skin: I want Caroline.
I am fucked.