Chapter 5
550 Words
Sienna
Noah raises his glass. “To Damian and Sienna - may you find what you’ve been looking for, even if you didn’t expect to find it in each other.” One corner of his mouth curves. “Here’s to you, and to a love that withstands every storm. And every temptation. To Mr and Mrs Hunter!”
My heartbeat stutters. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Damien’s jaw tighten.
The crowd erupts in applause. Crystal glasses are lifted high, laughter ripples through the ballroom. I manage a smile, though my mouth feels as dry as the champagne bubbles. Damian’s fingers remain pressed against my hip - steady, calming, deceptively casual.
Across the room, Noah’s gaze finds mine again. His smile is polite now, nothing more than the polite gleam expected from the best man at a million dollar wedding. But his eyes.. They linger. And that, I realize, is the real toast.
Damian’s lips brush my temple. “He always did love an audience.” His words are a murmur meant just for me, the edge of it slicing through the applause.
“Play nice,” I whisper back, forcing my smile wider as another guest approaches.
“Always do,” he replies, voice as smooth as aged Scotch.
We make the circuit then - thank-yous, handshakes, air kisses. Damian’s public charm is flawless, a performance honed to perfection. But under the surface, I could feel the taut pull of something coiled.
Noah was still there, talking to one of the photographers now, the light catching on the gold rim of his glass. Then, as if sensing me, he looks up. For a single, treacherous heartbeat, the noise between us vanishes.
His mouth curves slightly - half invitation, half challenge.
I look away first.
Damian’s hand tightens on mine. “Time to go,” he says softly, the practiced smile still in place. “If you’ll excuse us, my wife’s had a long day.”
A chorus of good-natured laughter and teasing follows as Damian slips his arm around my waist, guiding me toward the marble staircase. Cameras flash one final time before the doors close behind us and the noise falls away.
Silence.
His steps slow only once we reach the corridor leading to the private wing of his estate. The air there is cooler, smelling faintly of jasmine and polished wood. I can hear my heartbeat in the hush.
He stops. Turns. For the first time all night, the performance has faded from his face. What remains is something darker.
“Thirty minutes,” he had said.
They were up.
He reaches out, tracing a finger along my jaw. “You were perfect tonight,” he murmurs. “Exactly what I needed.”
I should feel relief. Instead a shiver creeps down my spine, sharp with want.
His dark eyes search mine, unreadable. “You understand what happens now, yes?”
I nod. “The wedding night.”
Damian’s smile is slow, dangerous. “Among other things.”
He opens the bedroom door and gestures me inside.
The world outside of the bedroom vanishes.
And as he closes the door behind us, I can’t tell if I’m more afraid of what he’s going to do next - or what I want him to do.
- Writer
