The music waned and slowed, the final beats pulsing like a heartbeat between us.
One last turn.
One last dip.
His hand slid along my back, strong and sure, guiding me down until the world tilted—the night air kissing the exposed skin of my throat. I let myself fall into it. Into him.
The final notes drifted into the star-speckled night, and he bent low, his breath brushing my ear before his lips found the column of my neck.
A single, reverent kiss. Then another. Each one slower, softer, climbing upward until his mouth found mine.
He pulled me upright as the last chord faded, the city and the music dissolving around us—leaving only his hands, our heartbeats, and the promise that we were exactly where we were meant to be.
For a long moment, neither of us moved. The only sound was our exhales, slow and uneven, tangled together in the hush that followed the music.
Then I glanced down at the mess of crimson petals scattered across the patio like tiles, a small laugh slipping from me. “Sorry about the flowers.”
His laugh rumbled low in his chest, rough velvet against the quiet. He buried his face in my neck, breathing me in. “I’ll buy you more. Hundreds, thousands, millions. All the petals in the world, I’d buy for you. The moon on a pedestal, if that’s what you wanted.”
He pressed a kiss just below my ear, his words ghosting against my skin. “Anything that would make you happy,” he whispered. “Anything that would make you dance with me just one more time.”
It was almost too much—the sincerity, the wonder in his voice, the impossible tenderness.
My eyes burned as I tilted my head back to look at him. This man who had changed everything. “I don’t need the world,” I said softly. “I only need you.”
Something flickered in his expression—shock, maybe, or relief. Then his hand came up to cup my face, reverent and trembling. And when he kissed me again, it felt different, impossibly deeper.
His thumb brushed along my jaw, tracing the edge of my smile. “Emma,” he said, my name falling from his lips like something sacred. “I—”
The sound buzzed between us.
A vibration. Low and insistent.
He stilled. The world held its breath as he searched for the mute button in the pocket of his slacks.
Then released when his hand found my waist again as if the touch alone could pull us back to where we’d been.
“Emma,” he started, voice low and uneven. “I wanted to—”
The vibration came again. Louder this time. Relentless.
He exhaled through his nose, the moment slipping away before I could catch it. Then his brows furrowed, body going still as his attention flicked to the screen—and then back to me.
“I have to take this.” Regret colored his voice.
I nodded, pressing close as he pulled me in, the warmth of his arm anchoring me even as the air shifted.
A woman’s voice came through the line.
“Hey, Mom. I’m a little—” He stopped mid-sentence, his expression collapsing as the voice on the other end broke into sobs.
My stomach dropped.
“Slow down,” he said urgently. “I’m having a hard time understanding…”
Then his face fell—pain and panic surfacing all at once. “What?” he breathed.
My pulse kicked, adrenaline spiking hard and fast.
