“You look stunning,” he murmurs, voice low enough that only I can hear. “That color is perfect on you.”
I focus over his shoulder, afraid to meet his eyes. “Thank you,” I manage. “You look good too.”
His thumb traces a circle on my waist—such a subtle movement no observer would catch it. But I feel it burn through the silk like a brand. We dance in loaded silence for long moments. His body is so close I can feel his warmth radiating through the thin fabric of my dress. Every turn brings us closer until there’s barely space between us. His hand on my waist applies the gentlest pressure, guiding me through the steps we both remember. My fingers curl slightly against his shoulder, and I feel the tension in his muscles beneath the expensive fabric.
The song builds, strings swelling with heartbreaking beauty. Other couples blur around us. The lights soften. Time seems to stretch and compress simultaneously—each second lasting forever while the whole dance feels like it might end too soon.
His breath stirs the hair near my temple. I can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat where our bodies nearly touch. My own heart matches its cadence without permission. This close, I notice details I’ve been trying not to see—the faint scar, barely visible, above his eyebrow from a childhood accident, the newlines at the corners of his eyes, the way his jaw tightens like he’s holding back words.
I finally gather courage to look at him directly. His jaw is clenched, like he’s wrestling with something monumental. I can see his pulse beating at his temple. When his eyes meet mine, they’re so raw with emotion I almost look away.
“Why are you doing all this?” The words escape before I can stop them. I need to understand. Maybe I’ve always needed to understand.
He holds my gaze steadily. No deflection. No evasion. His eyes don’t waver from mine.
“Because I never stopped,” he says simply.
Three words. Devastating in their simplicity. He doesn’t need to complete the sentence for me to understand.Because I never stopped loving you.The unspoken words hang between us, more powerful for remaining unvoiced.
I’m trembling so hard I’m certain he can feel it through our joined hands. Everything else dissolves—the music, the crowd, the twinkling lights—until it’s just us rotating slowly in our private universe. Just us with five years of separation that suddenly feels insignificant.
His hand tightens almost imperceptibly on my waist. My fingers press harder against his shoulder. We’re not just dancing anymore—we’re orbiting each other like binary stars, caught in a gravitational pull neither of us can resist.
“Zayn,” I whisper, his name barely audible even to myself.
His eyes soften with understanding. “I know,” he says quietly, and somehow, he genuinely does. Knows I’m terrified. Knows I’m conflicted. Knows I can’t trust this—us—him—myself—any of it. Knows that despite everything, I feel it too.
The distance between us shrinks to nothing. His forehead nearly touches mine. I can taste his breath, mint and somethinguniquely him. My eyes flutter closed for one dangerous moment. Just one more second and I could?—
The final note quavers and dies. Reality crashes back with the sound of applause. I step back abruptly, breaking contact, and immediately feel cold where his warmth was. People clap for the band. Someone jostles me from behind, breaking the spell completely.
“I need space” I say, already turning away. I don’t wait for his response. Can’t wait. If I stay one more heartbeat, I might do something reckless like cry. Or worse—believe him.
I push through the crowd, murmuring apologies as I bump shoulders and step on feet. The clinic. The fundraiser. That’s why I’m here. That’s what matters. Not how my skin still burns where he touched me or how his words echo relentlessly through my mind.Because I never stopped.
Cool night air hits my overheated face as I escape the square. The music fades to background noise, replaced by my ragged breathing. I walk to the edge of the sidewalk and grip a lamppost to steady myself. To stop the dizzying sensation in my chest.
The street before me stretches dark and quiet, nothing like the illuminated celebration behind me. I wrap my arms around myself, shivering despite the mild spring temperature. My hands won’t stop trembling. My face feels flushed in the cool air. I’m breathing fast and shallow, like I’ve run a marathon instead of simply danced.
I look down at a puddle near my feet, remnant of this morning’s rain. The party lights reflect in it, creating golden ripples that fracture and reform when the breeze disturbs the water’s surface. That’s how I feel right now—like still water someone just disrupted, unable to settle back into calmness.
What do I do now? He looked at me like I still mean everything to him. His hands held me like he never forgot howwe fit together. His words weren’t a plea or a promise—just truth delivered with devastating simplicity.
I can hear the party behind me—laughter and conversation, music swelling again. I should return. The clinic needs tonight’s donations. Dr. Martinez is depending on me. But I can’t force my legs to carry me back there. Not yet.
I stare at the puddle, watching party lights shimmer across its surface. Which is more frightening? Going back inside to confront whatever this is between us? Or walking away and spending the rest of my life wondering what might have been? Staying protected behind my walls, or risking everything on the possibility that maybe—just maybe—he means it this time?
The wind catches my emerald dress, making the silk flutter. Green like my eyes. Green like new little plants pushing through soil after a long winter—fragile but determined to grow despite the risk.
CHAPTER 13
Legal Precedents and Longing
My phone jolts me awake far too early Saturday morning. I fumble blindly across my nightstand, eyes barely open, knocking over my water glass before finally locating my phone. It’s only 7:23 a.m. Who calls this early on a weekend? The name glowing on my screen makes my heart skip a beat: Zayn. My gut clenches as last night floods back. The fundraiser. The dance. His devastating words: “Because I never stopped.” I should let it roll to voicemail, but my thumb swipes to answer before my brain can intervene.
“Hello?” My voice sounds scratchy from sleep.
“Sophie.” He sounds completely awake and energized. “I’m sorry for calling so early, but I found something. Something potentially game-changing.”
