Chapter 90: Chapter 90
Amara walked into the art exhibition Elias had invited her to the day he’d stopped by at her house. She wasn’t sure what she was doing here, or why she’d even come.
The air smelled faintly of varnish and wine. Conversations rose and fell like soft background music, broken only by the occasional burst of laughter from somewhere near the champagne table.
Her heels clicked against the polished floor as she wandered, eyes skimming over the frames on the walls. Gold-gilded edges, perfectly spaced, and perfectly lit.
She didn’t know what she was looking for, or if she was even looking at the art. Mostly, she was aware of the fact that she felt like a misplaced puzzle piece in a room full of people who belonged.
She drifted to a quiet corner, with a glass of champagne in her hand. She leaned against the wall. She took a sip, her eyes lingering on a piece across the room more out of politeness than interest.
She suddenly felt an unmissable shift in the air.
She looked up to see Elias threading his way toward her through the crowd. He didn’t hurry. People moved without him asking, and his eyes never left her. He was in a black suit that fit too perfectly, and there was a kind of knowing in his expression that made her pulse skip.
"You’re not having fun, are you?" he asked once he was close enough, his voice low, warm, and just for her. He reached for her hand without hesitation, his thumb brushing over her knuckles like he’d done it a hundred times before.
Amara raised an eyebrow. "What gave me away?"
He didn’t reply immediately but when he did, his eyes flicked briefly to the glass in her hand before returning to her face.
"You look like you’re one comment away from throwing that champagne in someone’s face," he said.
Amara tilted her head, unimpressed. "That depends. Are you volunteering to be the target?"
His smile deepened. "Not yet. But I’ll keep the offer in mind."
They stood there for a moment, studying each other like they were trying to decide if this conversation was worth their time.
"You’re not enjoying yourself," he said again, with a tone of finality.
"Observant," she replied dryly. "Didn’t know you moonlighted as a mind reader."
"I don’t need to. You’re not exactly hiding it." He glanced over her shoulder at the nearest painting. "Let me guess. You’ve been here less than ten minutes, already judging half the crowd, and you’re wondering if anyone would notice if you left."
She raised an eyebrow. "You make it sound like you know me." She gently took her hand off his, and dusted it on her dress like taking off an invisible dust.
"I do," he said, and the way he said it made her pulse skip before she could stop it. "Come on. Let’s get out of here."
Amara’s brows lifted. "And go where? Somewhere you can tell me what the paintings really mean?"
"Somewhere the air doesn’t smell like money and pretension," he countered. "Trust me."
She hesitated, letting her gaze linger on him longer than necessary. Her instinct was to refuse, and to remind him she didn’t exactly make a habit of leaving with men just because they asked.
But his voice, and the way his eyes didn’t wander, made it hard for her to walk away.
Finally, she let out a sigh, deliberately reluctant. "You’re lucky I was already looking for an excuse."
"Good." His smile was small but satisfied. "Let’s go."
.......
The night air hit her the moment they stepped outside. The air here was cool and clean compared to the artificial climate of the gallery.
They didn’t rush. They walked side by side, as her heels clicked softly against the ground, and his hands tucked in his pockets.
They walked without speaking for a while, their footsteps falling in sync. She tossed him a glance. "You really ditched your big night for me?"
He shrugged. "You’re more interesting than small talk and overpriced canapés."
"That’s a low bar," she teased.
"Not for me."
"You clean up well," he said after a moment.
She smirked. "Was that supposed to be a compliment or a surprise?"
"Both."
Her laugh was quiet, but it lingered. "You’re not bad yourself."
"You look good in blue," he said simply.
She arched her brow. "That’s the big line you’re going with?"
"You look good in blue," he said simply.
She arched a brow. "That’s the big line you’re going with?"
He didn’t reply to that, and they drifted into easy conversation. Their conversations were seemingly half teasing, and half curious. He asked about the last book she’d read; she accused him of fishing for intellectual points.
She asked what he did for fun; he said it depended on the company. They were both circling something neither wanted to name yet.
At one point, she caught him looking at her. His gaze on her was surprising, because it was not the same way men sometimes look at her, when they’re trying to strip her down with their eyes, but like he was trying to know her. She told herself she was imagining it.
They paused at a quiet corner where the light from a shop window spilled across the sidewalk.
She was still talking when they sat down, and he listened diligently. She switched effortlessly between saying something sarcastic about how the gallery’s most expensive piece looked like a child’s finger painting.
His gaze flicked briefly to her mouth, and she caught him immediately. She paused, and sighed lightly. She should have stepped back, should have laughed it off, or should have done anything except what she did next.
She leaned in.
It wasn’t calculated. She didn’t think about it; she didn’t even realize she was doing it until their lips met.
The moment their lips sealed, the kiss was gentle, and slow enough to feel deliberate, but with an undercurrent she couldn’t quite name.
His hand came up, and rested against her jaw. He held her there like he didn’t want her to mistake this for an accident.
When they pulled back, her breath caught. She looked into his eyes, and for the first time all evening, she didn’t have anything sarcastic to say.
She wasn’t sure what she’d just felt. She only knew she wanted to feel it again.