Chapter 29
Zora
We slip back into the reception hall after our moment together, but I pause just outside the doors, needing a few seconds to compose myself before facing an entire room full of people.
Taking a slow breath, I smooth down the front of my dress, brushing away wrinkles that refuse to disappear. I push a few loose strands of hair back into place before instinctively touching my lips. They still feel warm... swollen enough that I immediately pull my hand away. Fantastic.
My lipstick is completely gone, my makeup probably looks disastrous, and despite the cool evening air, I can still feel the heat lingering beneath my skin. If anyone pays enough attention, they are going to know something happened.
Beside me, Nico looks infuriatingly untouched.
His suit is immaculate, his hair perfectly in place, and his expression carries the same calm indifference he wears everywhere else. If I didn't know better, I would never guess he had spent the last several minutes buried deep inside me.
I glance at him before letting out an irritated sigh. "You could at least pretend to look guilty."
He turns his head toward me, a hint of amusement settling into his eyes. "Guilty?"
"Yes. You look as though you've done nothing more scandalous than attend a wedding."
"I am attending a wedding."
"You know exactly what I mean."
"I do." His lips twitch ever so slightly. "I simply fail to see why I should look guilty."
I shake my head. "This is unbelievably unfair."
"What is?"
"You look perfectly composed."
"And you don't?" His gaze drifts over me for the briefest moment before returning to my face. "I think you look beautiful."
I roll my eyes, refusing to let that affect me. "I look compromised."
"I disagree."
"My lipstick is gone."
"It is."
"My hair is a mess."
"I rather like it."
"My makeup…"
"I stopped noticing your makeup quite some time ago."
My breath catches for the smallest moment. He says it so casually, as though he has not completely derailed my thoughts.
I look away first. "You enjoy making this difficult for me."
"I enjoy watching you overthink."
"I am not overthinking."
"You've adjusted your dress twice in the last minute."
"I was fixing it."
"And checked your reflection in the glass."
"...I was making sure I looked presentable."
"You do." His voice softens just enough to steal the edge from the teasing. "Relax, Elf. No one is paying nearly as much attention as you think."
He offers me his arm. "Ready?"
I glance at the closed doors and square my shoulders. "Let's just get this over with."
Together, we step back into the reception hall.
The wedding feast is already in full swing.
Guests fill the elegantly decorated tables while waiters move effortlessly through the room carrying trays of food and champagne.
Conversations overlap with soft music, creating a lively hum that almost manages to drown out the frantic beating of my heart.
We return to our seats as though nothing has happened. For exactly five seconds. Because the moment Theo gets a proper look at me, his conversation comes to an abrupt stop. His eyes narrow ever so slightly before a slow, knowing grin spreads across his face.
Well. I'm doomed.
Theo studies me for another moment, swirling the wine in his glass before taking a slow sip. "You disappeared for a while."
I reach for my own glass, grateful for the excuse to avoid his eyes. The cool stem settles between my fingers, but it does nothing to calm the lingering warmth beneath my skin. "I needed some air."
"I noticed." His tone remains casual, almost absentminded, but I know Theo well enough to recognize when he's fishing for information. "I think Nico disappeared around the same time."
I force myself to shrug. "There were hundreds of people here. I'm sure plenty of guests stepped outside."
"Sure, babe!"
The corner of his mouth twitches, though he lets the silence linger instead of pressing the point. Across the table, conversation carries on as if nothing unusual has happened. Glasses clink. Someone laughs at a story I don't quite catch.
Theo eventually sets his glass down. "You're acting strange."
"I've had a long day."
"I suppose everyone has." He leaves it there, though the knowing look he sends me makes it clear he isn't entirely convinced.
The conversation gradually drifts away from us and settles into lighter, far less dangerous topics.
Stories from Keith's childhood are exchanged across the table, someone argues over the best whisky in Scotland, and Aurelia laughs as one of her relatives recounts an embarrassing memory from university.
Outwardly, I do my best to participate. In reality, I am painfully aware of the man sitting beside me.
Every now and then, our elbows brush beneath the table. Every accidental touch sends my thoughts spiraling right back to my suite, making it increasingly difficult to focus on whatever story Theo is enthusiastically telling.
Nico, meanwhile, seems completely unaffected. Or perhaps he simply enjoys watching me suffer. I have not yet decided which possibility irritates me more.
A waiter sets down another course before us, and I reach for the serving dishes just as Nico speaks. "Elf."
I don't even think before responding. "Hm?"
He nods toward the salt cellar sitting near my plate. "Would you pass me the salt?"
I hand it to him automatically. Only after he thanks me do I realize what he had called me.
Across the table, Theo slowly lowers his wine glass. His eyes move from Nico... to me... and then back again.
"I'm sorry." He says, unable to hide his amusement. "Did you just call her Elf?"
I close my eyes for half a second. Of course he heard it.
Nico doesn't appear remotely concerned. "I did."
Theo leans forward, resting an elbow on the table. "I feel like there's a story there."
"There isn't."
He points between us with his fork. "People don't randomly invent nicknames unless something happened."
Theo looks expectantly at Nico.
Nico sets his glass down with infuriating calm. "She's short."
I narrow my eyes. "I am not short."
"You are."
"I'm average."
"Compared to children, perhaps."
Theo snorts into his drink.
Nico continues as though I haven't spoken. "She's stubborn."
"I prefer determined."
"She argues about everything."
"I do not."
"You just proved my point."
Theo lets out another laugh while I glare at both of them.
"And," Nico finishes, "she somehow manages to look furious even when she's doing absolutely nothing."
"I don’t look furious."
He studies me for a long moment. "You do right now."
Theo breaks into outright laughter. "Oh, he's right." He looks at me with far too much delight. "You've got that tiny but terrifying energy."
I fold my arms. "I don't know whether to be offended."
"You should be flattered." Theo grins.
Nico studies me for a moment before the corner of his mouth lifts. "You look like a little woodland creature that would absolutely stab someone."
"I wouldn't stab anyone." I say louder than intended.
The table falls strangely quiet. Keith arches an eyebrow. Anton coughs into his drink to hide a laugh.
"I was deciding whether poisoning would be less messy."
Laughter ripples around the table. Even Aurelia hides a smile behind her champagne glass.
I let out an exaggerated sigh. "I cannot believe I'm being bullied at a wedding."
Theo points across the table. "He started it."
"You encouraged him."
"I absolutely did."
Nico doesn't look remotely apologetic. "I think Elf suits you."
I turn to him with the sweetest smile I can manage. "Keep calling me that, and I'll make sure your obituary is beautifully written."
Theo laughs so hard he nearly spills his wine. "There she is." He gestures toward me with obvious satisfaction. "That's exactly the energy I was talking about."
The conversation gradually shifts as someone farther down the table asks Keith about the honeymoon. Everyone's attention follows the new topic, finally giving me a chance to breathe. Or so I think.
A warm touch brushes against my hand beneath the table. I glance down and see Nico's fingers have slipped between mine.
His attention never leaves the conversation, his expression perfectly composed, as though he isn't quietly undoing every coherent thought in my head.
I should pull away. Instead, I lace my fingers with his. His thumb strokes the back of my hand once, sending an entirely disproportionate warmth through my chest that no one notices.
At one point, I try to slip my hand free, but his fingers tighten just enough to stop me.
I turn to look at him, only to find his attention still fixed on the conversation around the table.
The only sign he's aware of me at all is the faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling back.
The rest of the evening passes in much the same way.
We never speak about what happened inside my suite.
We don't need to. Every so often, our eyes meet before one of us looks away, while our fingers remain quietly intertwined beneath the crisp white linen.
Somewhere between those silent moments, I realize I've stopped feeling quite so alone.