“The only other suggestion I have for you would be to ask Rams to swim you back,” I say and face Ramsey, who glares at me. “What do you think, buddy? Think you can handle something out ofThe Scorpion and the Frog?” No response. I turn back to Reese. “I think he’s warming up to me.”
She gives me a scolding look—the one that makes me feel seventeen again, stripped of everything I’ve built. The one that makes me feel a little bad about being bad. Yet she’s still here, solid and real beside me.
“I don’t think so.”
My hard chuckle fills up my chest. This bit of bite from her is worth it, because I’m taking Reese fucking Sinclair to the most exclusive party of the year, and no one will know but me. Tonight, I’ll show her what freedom tastes like, what it means to belong to no one but yourself.
“If I’d told you there was a boat involved, you would’ve never agreed to come. And I couldn’t risk that.” I lean close enough to breathe her in, testing both our limits. “Trust me. And now that I’ve distracted you long enough, give me your arm.” The boat clanks against the dock as the captain secures us to the wooden planks. “We’re here.”
Around us, there are dozens of glamorous guests bustling off of their tiny boats, walking down the dock toward the cave.
Reese shifts closer, all wide-eyed as she takes in the masked strangers. “This isn’t exactly what I’d call intimate.”
“Numbers were never my strong suit.”
Her nails dig crescents into my bicep as I help her off the boat and onto the dock. “Drop me in the water, and I’ll destroy you during training,” she says through gritted teeth.
“Looking forward to it.”
The boat lists under Ramsey’s weight as he attempts to take Reese’s other arm. “Maybe you should let me—”
“I got her, big guy.” The words come out harder than intended. Or maybe exactly as intended.
She quiets Ramsey with a look. He retreats, radiating disapproval.
“Here, since heels and planks don’t mix.” In one fluid motion, I step off the boat and sweep her into my arms. Her body curves into mine like muscle memory. Ramsey’s glare burns between my shoulder blades.
She flicks her brown eyes to mine. “You orchestrated this whole thing to carry me, didn’t you?”
“A boat, a Balenciaga, a genuine Venetian mask, all to carry you down ten meters of dock?” I adjust my grip, drawing her closer to my chest, letting Ramsey see. “Sounds like me.”
She laughs against my collar, a private sound.Mine.
The ceiling’s crystalline formations catch the light just so. Murano orbs house colonies of bioluminescent creatures. The guests—all properly vetted, of course—drift through the space in their inherited masks and bespoke silks. Near the back, where the cave opens into a natural alcove, a bartender crafts cocktails using spirits older than most small nations.
The fog machine’s haze mingles with cigarette and weed smoke, layering the air with memories of places that would make Reese flinch.
When I set her down, her pulse jumps visible at her throat. Behind her mask, her eyes dart around, taking everything in.
“What is this place?”
“Impressed?” I try to sound casual.
“You want me to be impressed that you’re disturbing sacred ground?” Her hip juts to the side as she crosses her arms across herself.
“The organizers preserve this place, protect it. Nothing illegal happens here—at least, not to the environment. We leave it better than we found it.” I give her a wink. This isn’t rebellion, it’s sanctuary.
“And you come to places like this often?”
“When the opportunity arises.”
I need her to see it.
There’s something untamed in both of us. Her fire forged into steel, mine left to burn. I want to watch her discipline crack, at least for a night. Let her taste what she’s denied herself.
After years of keeping everyone at a clinical distance, showing her this side of me—the one people usually see first, before they piece together the mess underneath, before the drinks blur their judgment—feels like stepping off a ledge.
And fuck, I want to fall.
