Page 36 of Painted Truths

Get over yourself, Liv. He forgot about you the moment he left that stupid terrace.

I get through the next torturous twenty minutes, hoping Alex will return soon so that I can let him know that I need to go home. Still, I can see he’s wrapped up in a group that includes Henry, alongside Martha and Ryan Solomon, so it’ll be a while.

Turning to Freya, I’m about to tell her that I want to call it a night when the band stops playing to announce the traditional management dance.

“Oh, here we go. My annual dance with Ryan.”

I snort behind my champagne. But, of course, no one else would have the ability to put up with the old codger for the entirety of a song.

Each member of management will pick someone at random to dance with, kind of like a show of unity so that all employees know that everyone is equal within the company.

“Enrico always dances with Martha. She’s like, old enough to be his grandmother, and obviously, if he were to pick someone more age-appropriate, the office gossip aka yours fucking truly would go into overdrive.”

The two of us chortle at that, knowing full well that she’s the ringmaster of said office gossip. If there’s gossip to be had, Freya will source it like a sniffer dog in Amsterdam. She’s in her element.

She side-eyes me when I smile as Ryan reaches us and holds his hand out for Freya, which she dutifully takes. I glance across the room, wondering where Alex is and who he’ll ask to dance, when my eyes land on him and Henry. They are speaking quietly together with Martha close by, but even from this distance, I can see the anger bristling between them, wholly at odds with the stilted but polite conversation I was privy to earlier this week.

Suddenly Henry turns his back and strides away, leaving Alex clenching his fists repeatedly at either side of his body, his face like thunder, before he turns sharply to hold his hand out to Martha.

He looks across the room, his eyes finding mine as my head tilts to the side questioningly, brows in a deep V, the very picture of confusion as Henry comes to a stop in front of our table, causing the entire room to gasp audibly.

“Miss Parker.”

His voice is as deep and downright sexy as I remember, and I feel more than a little lightheaded when he affects a slight, stiff bow before continuing. “Would you kindly do me the honour of this dance?”

If my eyes widen any more, they’ll undoubtedly fall right out of my head, yet I stand, as though magnetised by his mere presence, making my way around to take his proffered hand, allowing him to lead me to the dance floor.

Turning to face me, our eyes meet as he keeps hold of the hand I gave him while I place my other one on his broad shoulder, and he slips his warm palm around my waist, gently tugging me closer so that our bodies are flush together.

The band begins to play These Arms of Mine by Otis Redding, sending a shiver of longing down my spine as we slowly start to sway to the music. My mind instantly flashes back to when he’d told me his favourite show of all time was 12 Monkeys.

This song is the love song between the two main characters who weren’t supposed to meet, but as fate would have it, they did, and their love would go on to change the world. My mind is whirring at top speed as I think about it.

Did he have them play it on purpose?

Does he remember me?

Am I a complete and utter paranoid wreck, making something out of nothing?

Yes, Olivia. Get a fucking grip!

Not a single word is exchanged between us as his green eyes never leave my blue ones, and I can feel the attention of the entire Ballroom upon us. Though my worries slowly begin to ebb away, I can’t find it in me to care.

Not one bit.

My knees feel weak, like I might stumble and fall at any moment, but his strong arms and even stronger gaze fixed firmly on mine keep me upright.

As the song’s final bars begin to play, his eyes move from mine down to linger on my lips for several beats. His nostrils visibly flare as I can’t help but tug my bottom lip between my teeth nervously before he leans in close. So close I’m enveloped by him and that bergamot that makes it impossible for me to enjoy a cup of Earl Grey without remembering his indelible scent. His lips brush my ear so softly it sends a shot of pure, unfettered yearning straight to my core.

My breathing hitches when the hand upon my waist drifts to the bare skin of my lower back, his thumb drawing lazy circles once again, except this time it’s on my naked flesh. When his lips by my ear begin to move as he speaks oh-so-softly, it sends sweet shivers of desire all the way along my bare spine.

All the way to my wet, needy centre. The part of me that only seems to come alive for this man.

“I’m pleased I got the exact shade right, Peaches.”

He pulls away at my sharp inhalation, bowing low over my hand to dust his lips across my knuckles as though we’re in a scene from Bridgerton before straightening up, turning on his heel, and leaving the ballroom. I’m forcibly tossed back into the here-and-now as our audience gapes open-mouthed at the show performed so heedlessly in front of them.

Thankfully, Alex has the presence of mind to stride forward, grasping me firmly at the elbow before directing me out of the Grand Ballroom, just as the gossip starts up with a cacophony at our departing backs.