A belly laugh escapes me, not the polite chuckle I’ve perfected for family functions.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” she rushes out. “They’re your family. I shouldn’t compare them to vultures. Sorry, I must be tired, or maybe I’ve had too much champagne. I have to admit that champagne was really freakin’ good.”
“Yes, they’re always like that. But I’ve never seen anyone handle them the way you did tonight.”
I place my hand on her thigh. Her leg stills under my palm, and the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of her dress makes my blood run hot. I squeeze gently, then force myself to focus on trees moving past us out of the window.
“Really? God, I feel like I messed up. I should have made up something better about my parents, something more impressive?—”
“Tara.” Her name comes out rougher than intended. “Don’t. Never suggest that again. Who you are, the truth of who you are, is...” I struggle for words. “Perfect. And I’ll never ask you to pretend to be anything else. Ok?”
The weight of what I’ve admitted sits between us in the dark car. I wonder if she can hear what I’m really trying to say.
You’re real. You’re genuine. You’re everything this world I come from isn’t.
The silence stretches, but it’s not uncomfortable. Just charged. I’m too aware of my hand still resting on her thigh, of how her dress has ridden up slightly. I should move it.
I don’t.
Because I’m an asshole.
“So,” she says, her voice slightly breathless, “your grandmother seems fun.”
“Careful. She might adopt you if you keep making her laugh like that.” I’m grinning. Gran really did seem to like Tara. She’s the most like me out of the whole family, even though she’s a lot crazier than I am.
“Might be worth it just to see your face again when your mother mentioned the debutantes.”
I snort. “You have no idea how many garden parties I’ve had to escape. Always some friend’s daughter whojusthappens to be visiting...”
“Poor baby,” she teases. “All those girls throwing themselves at themysteriousAlfie Spencer.” The way she draws out my name makes me want to hear what it would sound like if shescreamedit.
“Hardly mysterious. Just antisocial.”
“Please.” Her hand lands on mine, but instead of pushing it away, her fingers intertwine with mine on her leg. “You’re a living enigma. Who are you? What do you stand for? What’s your game? I want to figure it all out.”
“Do you now?”
“Yes,” she answers fast. “I’ve already got the picture; you’re like an eligible bachelor from Bridgerton.”
“That’s a terrible description.”
“Is it?” She shifts in her seat, turning toward me. “Rich boy rebels against family expectations, secretly passionate about science, probably has a tragic backstory involving boarding school...”
“I never went to boarding school.”
“No?Damn, there goes my theory about your mysterious past.”
I squeeze her thigh, maybe a little higher than strictly necessary. Her breath catches. “You think you’ve got me all figured out, don’t you?”
“Not even close.” Her voice barely carries in the night air. “But I’d like to.”
The Uber pulls into her apartment complex parking lot. I close out the ride, making sure to tip well - the poor guy had to deal with our tension the entire way home.
“Wait,” Tara says as she steps out. “Look at the stars. You can actually see them tonight.”
I follow her gaze upward. She’s right, the mountains block most of the city’s light pollution, leaving the sky impossibly clear. But I find myself watching her instead - the way moonlight catches in her hair, how she tilts her head back like she’s trying to absorb the whole universe.
“You remind me of a supernova,” I say before I can stop myself.
