His pace is unfaltering, even as all the stares slide to him, as if waiting for him to pass, and without missing a beat, he moves right for her.
Eric takes Asta’s hand into his, a soft greeting he pairs with a grazed kiss over her sharp cheekbone.
Ohhhhhhhh fuck.
Oh, fuck fuck fuck!
If I was stupid enough to think that this moment couldn’t get any worse, that I couldn’t get in even more trouble, I was wrong.
Eric’s sleeve shifts.
With his hand on Asta’s, the sleeve has lifted a bit higher, and on his wrist…
Everyone looks.
Everyone notices.
Asta’s hand tightens on Eric’s.
Her sharp stare is aimed down at his wrist.
Landon’s brows shoot up to his hairline.
Serena double takes, tracing Dray’s steady frown as it darkens into a look as hard as steel.
Oliver straightens. Slowly. Dangerously.
And my stare starts to burn with the tears thickening my throat.
On Eric’s wrist is a platinum watch.
Landon is the first to break the glass silence. “Is that a Vacheron, Harling?”
His mind hasn’t caught up.
Neither Eric, with his brightening smile, or Landon with his dumbfounded expression, have started putting the pieces together.
But everyone else is threading it together.
Eric shifts his grin to Landon. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? I’ve been saving it for the day I got offered a master contract.”
He peels his hand out of Asta’s firm grip, Asta who looks like an ice sculpture sprouted in the hall.
Eric aims a furrowed look at her as he finally gets his hand free from her grip. “I just signed on this morning.”
His gaze shifts around—and he realises that every face aimed at him is steel over churning magma.
And the fucking idiot throws a questioning look right at me.
Eyes wide, I shake my head, a swift gesture, rapid and tense—an obviousshut the fuck up.
But it’s too late.
Everyone saw it.
The Vacheron Constantin.
Same collection as the one I picked out for Oliver.
