“Perfect.” I swipe the drink and bring it to my mouth.
“Liar.” She follows my gaze across the room. “You two are going to combust if you keep eye-fucking each other like that.”
I snicker. “Trust me. That’s not what this is.”
“Sure,” she drags out with an eye roll that makes me glance at her twice.
She drifts away before I press her about it, leaving me exposed in the center of the room. Music shifts, something slower, heavier. Bodies move around me but I'm frozen, caught in Asher's orbit like a satellite with failing thrusters.
He says something to Camille. She frowns, tightens her grip on his arm, but he's already pulling away. Each step he takes toward me feels inevitable, like watching a car crash in slow motion.
The crowd senses it too. Conversations falter. Eyes track his movement.
Fuck.
I turn, heading for the terrace doors, but his hand closes around my biceps before I make it three steps. The touch sears through lace, proprietary and possessive in ways that should piss me off but instead make my stomach clench.
“We need to talk.” His voice is low, meant only for me.
“There's nothing to say.”
“Bullshit.” He pulls, not hard enough to hurt but firm enough to make his point, steering me away from the party. Through the library. Past the study. Into the darkened conservatory where moonlight filters through glass panels.
He releases me only to cage me against the wall, palms flat on either side of my head. This close, I can see the tension bracketing his mouth, the way his jaw works like he's been chewing on the words for hours.
Tension releases around his brows.
“Happy birthday,” he says softly, but still rough around the edges.
“Thanks.” I search his face. “That what you dragged me in here to say? Your fiancée is rather jealous and I know you don't want to upset her.”
“No.” His gaze drops to my mouth, then lower, tracking the neckline of this fucking dress before it catches on the collar around my neck. “I came to tell you that watching you walk down those stairs in this dress almost had me snap every fucking thing I'd kept held together.”
“What are you holding together, Ash?” I ask, searching for something. Anything.
“Everything.” His thumb brushes my collarbone, following the edge of white lace. It stops around the choker before it dives into his pocket and he pulls out a small box.
“Another forever collar?” I ask with an arched brow, plucking the small satin box.
He smirks, hand sliding down the wall and drawing us closer together. “Nah, there's only one of those. Ever.”
I flip it open. A single diamond. No context. Just an emerald cut that glistens against the black pouch.
“Asher…” I groan, afraid to even touch it. “I can't take this?”
He stares down at me, and something dark shifts over his eyes. “You can, and you will.”
I pick it up, running my finger over the lines. It doesn't make a lot of sense, but I don't ask questions.
“Thank you,” I whisper, finally dragging my eyes away from the gift and back to him, but he’s gone.
I stand in the conservatory, the diamond cold against my palm, staring at the empty space where Asher stood three seconds ago.
What the fuck?
The door to the conservatory clicks shut somewhere behind me, and I spin, expecting Asher to reappear with some cryptic explanation. But it's Parker, silhouette backlit by the party beyond.
“There you are.” His voice carries that edge it gets after too much whiskey. “Guests are asking for you.”
