Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Romeo
The drive to Rosewood High was quieter than I expected, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.
Fiona sat beside me with her hands folded in her lap, the corsage on her wrist catching the streetlights whenever we passed beneath them.
Every so often, she smoothed a hand over her dress or glanced out the window, only to look straight ahead again.
She was nervous.
I could’ve told her she didn’t have a damn thing to be nervous about. That when we walked into that school, every person inside was going to wonder how they’d managed to overlook her.
Instead, I kept my hands on the wheel and my mouth shut.
She’d already had enough people telling her what she should feel tonight.
The parking lot was packed when we arrived, cars wedged into every available space and music faintly pulsing through the brick walls of the school. I found a spot near the entrance, killed the engine, and reached for the door.
Fiona didn’t move.
I looked over.
Her fingers were twisted together now.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Yeah.” She glanced toward the school. “Just... it’s been a while since I’ve done something like this.”
The last time she’d come here for a dance, she hadn’t made it through the doors. Neither of us needed to say it; instead, I reached across the console and took her hand, easing her fingers apart before threading mine through them.
“You look beautiful, Cher. And anyone who doesn’t see that isn’t worth your time.”
She turned toward me, and for a second those pale silver eyes took every clever thing I’d ever known how to say and scattered it.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
I lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Ready?”
Her smile was small, but it was real. “Ready.”
I got out and walked around to open her door. She put her hand in mine and stepped onto the pavement, the silver skirt moving around her legs as she straightened.
I’d seen beautiful women my entire life.
None of them had ever made me forget what the fuck I was doing.
Fiona looked up at me. “What?”
“Nothing.”
Her eyes narrowed and I smiled and offered my arm. “Come on, Ma Belle.”
She slipped her hand through it, and we headed toward the entrance.
The first few people who noticed us did double takes. By the time we stepped into the gym, there was enough staring that Fiona’s grip tightened around my arm.
The room looked like every high school dance committee in America had raided the same catalog. White linens covered the tables, strings of lights hung from the ceiling, and somebody had spent entirely too much time trying to make a gymnasium floor look romantic.
None of it held my attention long.
Fiona did.
She’d gone stiff beside me.
A group of girls near the refreshment table whispered to one another. A couple of boys looked our way, then looked again. Fiona noticed every bit of it.
I leaned closer until my mouth was near her ear. “Breathe, Cher. They’re staring because you’re the most beautiful girl in the room. Let them look.”
Her shoulders loosened a little.
“Easy for you to say.”
“Why?”
“Because people probably stare at you everywhere you go.”
“That’s true.”
She looked up at me.
I grinned. “What? You want me to lie?”
The laugh that slipped out was exactly what I’d been after. I tipped my head toward the dance floor. “Come on. Let’s give them something to really stare at.”
The song changed before we reached the middle of the floor, slowing enough that I took her hand and drew her closer. Her other hand settled carefully on my shoulder while mine rested at the small of her back.
For someone who’d looked ready to bolt five minutes ago, she fit against me with surprising ease.
Then we started moving.
“You’re a good dancer,” she said after a moment.
“Mama made sure me and Gator knew how to dance. She told me a boy learns to dance for fun. A man learns because one day there’ll be a woman worth crossing the room for.”
Fiona’s gaze lifted to mine. “Your mama sounds like a smart woman.”
“She is.” I guided her into an easy turn before bringing her back. “She’ll like you.”
Color touched her cheeks. “You think so?”
“I know so.”
That answer seemed to leave her with nowhere to look but at me.
For a while, neither of us said anything. The music filled the space where conversation usually lived, and I let myself enjoy having her close without trying to turn the moment into something more than she’d chosen.
Her fingers relaxed against my shoulder.
Mine stayed where they belonged.
“Thank you,” she said eventually.
“For what?”
“For this. For showing up. For...” She looked down briefly before meeting my eyes again. “For making me feel like I matter.”
My feet stopped before I could help it. People moved around us, dancing and laughing, but Fiona watched me as though my response was the most important thing in that room.
“You matter, Fiona.”
Her lips parted slightly.
“More than you know,” I added.
Something flickered across her face, so quick I almost missed it. Then she smiled, tentative and beautiful, and I started moving again before I did something stupid like tell her every truth I’d spent months keeping to myself.
Or lean down and kiss her.
The rest of the night moved faster than I wanted.
We danced until Fiona complained her feet hurt.
We took pictures in front of a backdrop so ridiculous I planned to hold the evidence over her forever.
We sat at one of the tables and talked while couples came and went around us, and somewhere along the way, she stopped checking to see who was watching.
That was the part I liked best.
She forgot to be self-conscious.
The girl who’d walked through the gym doors holding herself tight had disappeared.
Fiona laughed when I deliberately ruined one of the formal pictures.
She dragged me back onto the dance floor for a song she liked, then informed me my taste in music remained questionable despite all evidence to the contrary.
I noticed the boys watching her.
Of course I did.
I wasn’t fucking dead.
But every time that darker territorial instinct started crawling up my spine, Fiona would say something that pulled my attention back where it belonged.
To her.
By the time the DJ announced the last song, she was leaning against my shoulder.
“Tired?” I asked.
“A little.” She looked around the gym as if trying to memorize it. “But it was perfect.”
I hadn’t known how badly I needed to hear that until she said it.
“Come on.” I stood and held out my hand. “Let’s get you home.”
She took it without hesitation.
The drive back to Granny’s was quiet again, only now Fiona’s hand rested on the center console between us. Every turn brought her fingers against mine.
Neither of us moved away.
When I pulled into Granny’s driveway, the porch light was still on.
I nodded toward it. “Your favorite place in Rosewood.”
Fiona looked at the porch, then back at me. “You remembered.”
“I remember everything you tell me.”
Her expression softened in that way that always made me feel like I’d accidentally said too much. I got out and opened her door. Instead of heading straight inside, Fiona walked up the steps and sat on the porch swing.
When she patted the space beside her, I knew I’d be a fool to wait for a second invitation.
For a few moments, we sat without talking, listening to the faint creak of the swing and the distant sounds of the town settling for the night.
“This was the best night of my life,” she said softly.
I turned toward her. There was no teasing in her expression now. No careful little wall built out of jokes and questions.
Just Fiona.
“Good,” I said. “You deserve the best, Fiona. Always.”
We stayed on the porch for more than an hour.
I’d spent months learning about her through a phone screen, memorizing the rhythm of the way she texted and how long she paused before answering a question that mattered.
Sitting beside her was different. Her thoughts wandered.
She interrupted herself. Her laugh came easier when she forgot anyone was listening.
I could’ve stayed there until sunrise.
The idea of climbing onto my bike and putting fifteen hundred miles between us again felt worse every minute.
Eventually, though, the light in one of the front windows flickered.
I looked toward it and sighed. “Come on. Let’s get you inside before Georgie comes out here with a shotgun.”
Fiona laughed and let me pull her to her feet.
At the door, neither of us immediately let go.
“Dors bien, Ma Belle,” I said quietly. “Un jour, je te dirai pourquoi mon c?ur refuse toujours de te dire adieu.”
Her brow furrowed. “What does that mean?”
I smiled.
Some truths were easier to say when the person hearing them didn’t understand the words.
“Some things are better left untranslated, Cher. At least for now.”
“Jasper...”
“Goodnight, Fiona.”
I leaned down and kissed her forehead. Her breath caught. For one dangerous second, she didn’t move.
Neither did I.
Then her gaze dropped to my mouth.
Fuck.
Every instinct I possessed told me to close the last few inches.
Instead, I straightened.
Fiona looked back at my eyes, and something about her expression told me she knew exactly what I’d almost done. She smiled, though there was a touch of frustration in it now.
Good.
Frustration I could survive. Regret would’ve been harder.
She opened the door and stepped inside, pausing long enough to look back at me before closing it. I stood on the porch until I heard her footsteps disappear deeper into the house.
Only then did I let the words out.
“Je t’aime, Ma Belle.”
The empty porch kept my secret. For now, that was where it belonged.
I walked toward Sugar’s car without looking back because if I saw her bedroom light come on, there was a decent chance I’d find another excuse to stay.
And I’d already tested my restraint enough for one night.