Page 177 of One of Those Amnesia Stories

He took a step closer, his hand still extended, unwavering. “Come on. One dance. Five minutes.” He glanced at his pocket, where his phone ticked away the seconds. “Well, four minutes now. And I don’t know exactly how many seconds.” His eyes pleaded with me. “You can even stomp on my feet. As many times as you want.”

My lips twitched, betraying me. “That is a tempting offer.”

His eyes crinkled, hope blooming across his face. “Is that a yes?”

I looked at his hand again.

It would be a bad idea.

Very bad.

Ah, what the hell.

It was four minutes. Four minutes of my life. What could possibly happen in four minutes?

I placed my hand in his.

He didn’t waste a second. His fingers closed around mine, warm and sure, and he pulled me gently into the space between us. His other hand found my waist—hesitant at first, then settling with a confidence that made my breath catch. My hand rose to his shoulder, settling against the soft fabric of his pink suit.

The live music drifted through the walls, muffled but present, a distant heartbeat beneath the party happening without us. Cassian guided me effortlessly, his hand warm on my waist, his steps sure. Then he spun me—a sudden, unexpected twirl that pulled a laugh from my chest before I could stop it. He caught me easily, drawing me back into his arms, his own laugh mingling with mine.

I was dancing in an empty hallway with my ex-husband. The man I didn’t remember marrying. The man who’d irritated me, annoyed me, cared for me, cried in front of me.

And I couldn’t, for the life of me, remember why this was supposed to be a bad idea.

We slowed. His gaze softened as the music mellowed, the tension draining from his shoulders with each passing moment.

“Thank you.”

I blinked up at him. “For what?”

He shrugged. “For not shutting the door in my face when I first showed up with the proposal. For agreeing to work on this. For making it a success.” A pause. “For still talking to me. For dancing with me right now.” His voice dropped, softer. “For not looking at me like I’m an insect you can’t stand.” A wry smile. “Take your pick.”

A laugh escaped me, surprising us both. “I’d forgotten about that.” I shook my head, the memory of my early contempt feeling distant, almost foreign.

When I looked up, he was watching me with an intensity that stole my breath.

“For still smiling,” he added, his voice low. “And laughing with me.”

We slowed further, then stopped altogether, standing close in the quiet hallway, the muffled music a distant backdrop.

“You’re giving me too much credit,” I said, my voice quiet in the space between us. “I’m good at my job. I’ll take all the compliments I get because of it. But you do know I didn’t make this a success alone, right? I wouldn’t be standing here if you hadn’t fought with Mrs. Garcia.”

A faint smile touched his lips.

“You guys are the ones who did the work.” I held his eyes, willing him to hear me. “You and Liam. You’re the story. I just made sure everyone heard it.”

His hand tightened on my waist. His eyes softened, something sad and searching moving behind them. He took a step closer, close enough that I could feel the warmth of him, smell the faint trace of his cologne.

“Alessia, I—”

The alarm rang.

Sharp. Insistent. Five minutes gone.

He cursed under his breath and fumbled for his phone, silencing it. When he looked up, he was smiling, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I’d escort you out,” he said.