I laugh, nervous and too quick. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Be nice. It’s confusing.”
He steps closer, his voice dropping. “You think that’s me being nice? You should hear me when I’m actually trying.”
My mouth goes dry. He’s too close. His gaze flicks to my lips, and…traitor that I am…mine do the same.
And then…
“Don’t mind me, lovebirds.”
We jolt apart like guilty teenagers as my bathroom grandma general shuffles past, gin and tonic clutched in her hands like holy water. She gives us a look so knowing that, if it wasn’t for the drink in her hands, I’d be convinced she lingered around the corner just to see if her meddling pep talk paid off.
Tyler clears his throat. I stare very hard at the floor.
He coughs again, fussing with his cuff like it’s fascinating.
“So,” he says finally, voice pitched just for me, “want to get out of here? Walk. Air. Fewer lawyers.”
I glance up, wary. “Is that an invitation or a veiled abduction threat?”
He tilts his head, mouth tugging at the corner. “Depends. Are you going to scream?”
“Maybe. Depends how far we’re walking and whether my heels survive.”
His half-smile deepens. “Then I’ll carry you.”
“Oh God, is this where you start quoting Shakespeare and I faint into your velvet-clad arms?”
“No,” he says, offering me his hand. “This is where we escape before someone hands you a script called ‘Act V: Fondle My Duckies, Henry.’”
I snort, despite myself, and stare at his hand.
And for one long, reckless second, I let myself want it, want him, the touch, the quiet, the maybe-clean slate waiting somewhere beyond this ridiculous castle.
So, I take it.
And let him lead me out into the night.
The air outsideis cooler than I expect, edged with something almost romantic, the faint hum of music drifting from the Ballroom. Somewhere, a string quartet is playing something slow and syrupy, the kind of tune that makes people grab whoever’s nearest and slip into the shadows.
Fairy lights blink across the hedgerows like hesitant stars, throwing pools of gold over the path. A fountain burbles somewhere in the distance, steady and hypnotic, and everynow and then I catch glimpses of couples disappearing behind archways, their laughter carried on the breeze, the whole garden feeling like a stage set for bad decisions.
We walk in silence at first.
His hand is still in mine.
Which I definitely didn’t mean to keep holding.
Which I also absolutely don’t let go of.
It’s steady, anchoring. My pulse latches onto the rhythm, slow at first, then quickening as the quiet stretches between us.
I nod towards the lights.
“Feels like we’re one harp solo away from a surprise engagement. Or a murder.”
