We’ve been showered with congratulatory cocktails and shots all night by strangers who bought our fake engagement story, hook, line, and sinker. Each new glass tastes sweeter than the last, and my head is pleasantly fuzzy as my skin hums with warmth from the liquor and from the way Milo’s fingers keep tapping slow, rhythmic patterns against my bare thigh.
I try not to squirm. I try not to imagine those fingers sliding higher. My body betrays me anyway, shifting closer on the worn leather booth.
The current singer finishes her off-key pop song to polite applause and a few good-natured boos. Before I can steady the nervous flutter in my chest, the host returns to the stage.
“Alright, alright, folks! Next up, we have a duet from the couple who got engaged right here tonight,” he announces, his eyes landing on our booth with a mischievous grin. “Let’s give it up for the happy couple—Milo and Sienna!”
My heart slams against my ribs with sudden force. A hot flush races up my neck.Engaged. The word still sounds surreal, even fake, a silly dare from Aria and Ethan. Yet my pulse refuses to get the memo.
Milo’s fingers tighten briefly on my thigh—a silent reassurance that sends another shiver through me. He rises smoothly and offers me his hand, his eyes gleaming with amusement and that dark hunger I’m beginning to recognize all too well.
I hesitate for half a second, my stomach doing a dizzying flip, then slide my fingers into his. His palm is warm and steady as he leads me through the cheering crowd toward the stage. My free hand clutches my cocktail like a lifeline, condensation dripping coolly over my fingers.
As we step onto the low, circular stage, the host grins broadly. “What are we singing tonight, then? Something romantic, I hope.”
Milo glances at me, one dark brow arched in silent question. We chose the song earlier while we were laughing until our sides hurt over a shared fishbowl cocktail someone sent as a congratulations. I picked it on impulse, half-joking, never imagining the lyrics would mirror so perfectly the confusing storm inside me now.
I lean into the mic, my voice steadier than I feel. “Untouched by The Veronicas.”
It’s a song about wanting something so badly you can almost taste it… but you still can’t quite touch it.Yet.
The host nods enthusiastically. “Oh, Ilikethat. Classic tension. Let’s turn up the heat!”
The intro begins—slow, pulsing, settling deep in my bones. Thirty seconds stretch into an eternity. My skin prickles with anticipation. Milo takes the first verse, reading from the screen, his voice low and rough around the edges. He directs each word to me, those gray eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that makes my knees weak.
The lyrics sink heavy into my chest, describing the exact electric push-and-pull that has hummed between us since the moment we met.
Every line feels like it’s describing the way my skin hums when he brushes against me, the way my breath catches when he looks at me too long. The way I want him so badly it aches.
The spotlight catches the diamond on my ring finger. I glance down at it, unable to stop myself. It sparkles, throwing tiny rainbows across my skin. It’s beautiful—too beautiful for something built on a lie.
My throat tightens with a confusing rush of emotions I’m nowhere near ready to name.
Longing.
Fear.
A dangerous flicker of hope.
What if…
No.
I shove the thoughts away before they can take root and force my gaze back up to Milo as he continues singing, his voice dropping lower on the pre-chorus, each word dripping with hunger and the sweet ache of almost.
Carefully, I set the cocktail down on the small table beside the microphone stand. Then I bring the mic to my lips for myverse. My voice emerges breathy and teasing on the surface, but raw vulnerability underneath.
Our eyes never leave each other. The air between us crackles. Someone in the crowd yells, “Go, girl!” but it barely registers. There’s only Milo—his voice, his eyes, his hands finding my waist and drawing me closer until our bodies are nearly flush.
We trade lines back and forth, voices weaving together. The song peels back every careful layer I’ve built around my heart.
I’m not supposed to want him this much.
I’m not supposed to feel this deeply, this quickly.
Yet the music refuses to let me hide. It drags every hidden emotion into the bright spotlight, and he stands right here with me, singing as if he feels every line echoing in his soul too.
When the bridge comes, I turn slowly in his arms and press my back against his chest, the flamingo squeaking under my weight. His arms wrap around my waist, holding me tight. Then his mouth hovers at my ear, his voice dropping to a gravelly murmur as he sings the lines about surrender, about no longer being able to hold back.
