Still Mine

4

Henry

“Okay, we’re ready.”

My father’s voice carried down the staircase, calm and certain. Outside, engines hummed softly—the drivers had arrived.

I came downstairs first.

I didn’t know why I moved ahead of everyone else, only that my body seemed to understand something my mind was still resisting. I stopped at the base of the stairs, hands tucked into my pockets, waiting.

For her.

My father appeared moments later, adjusting his cufflinks, April beside him—radiant, settled, already wearing the future like it fit perfectly.

“We’ll be taking two cars,” he said easily. “April and I will go ahead in the first SUV.”

His gaze shifted to me.

“You and Dallas will ride together in the second.”

Something tight and sharp pulled low in my stomach.

Before I could say anything, he was already opening the door for his new wife. April smiled warmly, waved once, and then they were gone—the first SUV gliding down the driveway, leaving silence behind.

I stayed where I was.

Waiting.

Then I heard her heels.

Each step echoed through the house, slow and deliberate, and my body reacted before I could stop it—muscles tightening, breath shallow, anticipation settling painfully under my skin.

Dallas appeared at the top of the stairs.

Gold

That was the first thing my mind registered.

She wore a golden backless gown that clung to her curves like it knew her, the fabric catching the light with every movement. Her back was completely bare—smooth, exposed—her hair flowing freely down her neck, brushing her skin . My hands remembered far too well.

My chest tightened.

God.

My body ached instantly, fiercely, with a memory it hadn’t been invited to recall. An ache to feel her warmth again. To know if her skin still reacted the way it used to under my touch. To remind myself she was real, and not just a ghost I’d carried for years.

I stared.

I couldn’t help it.

She walked toward me, confidence sharpened into something defensive, and I was still standing there, wanting in ways I had no right to anymore.

I didn't realize I was staring till I heard her voice

“Did you want to take a picture?”

The words were rude. Sharp. Protective.

I blinked, forcing myself back into my body. “Do you realise I've been waiting for you”

She held my gaze for a heartbeat—challenging, guarded—then brushed past me, her perfume lingering like a quiet threat.

The second SUV waited.

I opened the door. She got in without looking at me. I followed, the door closing behind us with a heavy, final sound.

As the car pulled away, the silence pressed in.

She sat close enough that I could feel the heat of her body, close enough that every small movement sent a ripple through me. I clenched my jaw, my hands tightening against my thighs, my body betraying me with how badly it wanted what it couldn’t have.

The city lights blurred past the windows.

I stared straight ahead.

So did she.

The restaurant came into view—a towering glass structure overlooking the city, all marble floors and golden light. One of the most expensive places in town. Valets moved with quiet precision. Wealth hummed in the air like electricity.

The SUV slowed.

As we stepped out, cameras flashed for other guests, voices murmured, luxury wrapped itself around us effortlessly.

Dallas paused beside me for just a second, adjusting her posture, lifting her chin.

She didn’t look at me.

But my body still leaned toward her, instinctive and aching.

This dinner hadn’t even begun yet.

And already, I knew—

Wanting her again was going to hurt far more than losing her the first time.

**********

We walked majestically to the table where my father and his wife were seated, I sat on the chair that had my name on it and Dallas sat across, directly opposite my seat.

When she sat, the open back of the dress stretched slightly, revealing more of her skin, and the sight dragged me straight into memory.

Her back beneath my hands.

The way she used to lean into my touch.

The quiet gasps she never meant for me to hear.

We had been too young.

But the memory didn’t care.

Conversation started—wine recommendations, comments about the view, my father talking proudly about the city like he owned it. I nodded when expected, responded when spoken to, but my attention kept betraying me.

My eyes kept finding her.

The way the candlelight caught her skin.

The slow, controlled movements of her hands.

The tension in her shoulders, like she was holding herself together by sheer will.

She didn’t look at me at first. When she finally did, it was brief—sharp, almost accidental—but it knocked the air from my chest all the same.

Her gaze held mine for a second too long.

There was surprise there.

And irritation.

And something dangerously familiar.

I looked away first.

Not because I wanted to—because if I didn’t, I wasn’t sure I’d survive the night with my composure intact.

The waiter poured wine. Glasses clinked softly. My father reached for her mother’s hand, smiling as he spoke about the future. About family. About how lucky we all were.

Lucky.

Dallas shifted in her seat, crossing her legs, and the movement pulled my attention back like a magnet. The open back of her dress caught my eye again, and my mind betrayed me completely.

I remembered kissing that skin.

I remembered her laughter when I did it

Remembered how trusting she had been with me.

My jaw tightened.

I was staring again. I knew it. I felt the weight of it even before she glanced back—and this time, she caught me.

Her lips parted slightly. Her expression flickered. Then she looked away, jaw set, as if she’d just lost an internal argument.

I lowered my gaze to the table, my grip tightening around my glass.

This wasn’t nostalgia.

This wasn't a harmless attraction.

This was a city skyline between us, a room full of people pretending nothing was wrong, and a woman I had never stopped wanting sitting three feet away from me in a dress that remembered my hands.

And as the courses arrived, one after another, beautifully plated and barely tasted, I realized something that made my stomach sink:

No amount of distance, time, or money could erase what existed between us.

Not even a restaurant this expensive could drown it out.