THE AFFAIR IV: Picture Perfect
1399 Words
|CIRCE|
I smiled tightly, muttered something about needing air, and escaped through the nearest set of glass doors.
The terrace was quiet. The moon hung above a starless sky, bathing everything in a silvery glow that should have been peaceful. Instead, it felt too bright, too revealing, too knowing. I leaned against the balustrade, inhaling night air that smelled of roses and champagne and my very own panic.
Breathe. Just breathe. He’s inside. You’re out here. You can—
“Running away already?”
I spun around.
He stood in the doorway, one hand in his pocket, his tie loosened, his expression unreadable. The terrace light caught the sharp planes of his face, and for one treacherous second, I remembered exactly how those features had looked in the dark, strained with pleasure, hovering above me.
I crushed the memory.
“Don’t you ever quit?” The words came out more breathless than annoyed.
He ignored the question entirely, stepping closer. His eyes scanned my face with unsettling intensity.
“You seemed overwhelmed.”
“I’m fine. Now go away.” I snap.
A faint smile touched his mouth. “Don’t lie to me, Circe.”
“And don’t pretend you know me.”
“Oh, but I do.” His voice dropped dangerously intimate. “I know how you taste when you’re trying not to moan. I know how your body shivers when I—”
He paused, letting the unfinished sentence hang between us. “I know when you pretend to be in control. Lie all you want, Circe. Even to yourself. But not to me.”
I stepped back until cold stone met my lower back. He followed, closing the distance until he stood just a breath away.
“I’m not sorry for what happened between us.” His voice was low, certain. “Not one second of it.”
I swallowed hard. His honesty hit harder than any lie could have.
“What do you want now?” The whisper escaped before I could stop it, half a challenge, half a confession that I was still asking.
His eyes traveled over my face, lingering at my mouth before meeting mine again.
“I want you to remember that night exactly the way I do.”
He straightened then, his tone snapping back to that calm, measured control.
“No one can know. Not your mother. Not Delson. You understand that, don’t you?”
It wasn’t a question.
I nodded slowly, my voice lost somewhere between fear and fury.
“Good.” His finger traced a ghostly path down the side of my face hovering, barely a touch, yet it seared my skin like a brand.
“Whatever we had that night didn’t end at the motel, Circe.” He murmured the words against my ear. “Things will be much more interesting now.”
He lingered a moment longer, then walked away. His silhouette swallowed by the light inside and by the distant laughter.
I stood frozen until my legs remembered how to hold me.
Walking back through the French doors felt like wading through water. The warmth and noise of the party enveloped me once more, but now it felt heavy. Suffocating. Every smiling face seemed like a mask, and in every shadow I imagined him watching.
I kept my head down, offering polite nods to those who greeted me. My single-minded goal was to find a quiet corner and disappear for the rest of the night.
The plan shattered before it could take shape.
“Circe! Perfect timing!”
Delson’s voice cut through the hall, pinning me like a startled deer. He stood on the grand staircase with my mother and a well-dressed man holding a professional camera. My blood ran cold when I saw who stood beside them.
Dax.
Impossibly relaxed, as if the searing confrontation on the terrace had never happened. Devastatingly handsome in his tailored suit, a faint smirk playing on his lips. The sheer perfection of his appearance was a cruel joke, a beautiful veneer over the ugly, twisted secret we shared.
“What’s going on?” My voice emerged barely a whisper.
“We’re having this special moment immortalized.” Delson draped a happy arm around my mother’s shoulders. “The photographer’s about to leave, and we haven’t gotten a single picture of our new family together.”
No.
No, no, no.
My mind reeled, searching for an excuse. Headache. Stomach bug. Something spilled on my dress. Anything. I had to leave. But my throat tightened with panic, and Delson was already waving me closer.
I have to get away from him.
Too late.
“Come on, darling, right here.” He beckoned with one arm, gesturing for me to stand between him and Dax.
The realization hit like ice water. This whole scene, the smiles, the soft lighting, the perfect familial tableau was a beautifully laid trap, and I was standing directly in its center.
My mother glowed with the evening’s success. She took my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.
“Isn’t this wonderful?” Her smile was brilliant.
It made me want to cry.
If only she knew.
I moved like a robot to my designated spot. The space next to Dax was a furnace of burning coals. I felt the warmth of his body even though we weren’t touching. His cologne—that same intoxicating scent—filled my senses and made my head swim.
“Alright, everyone squeeze in a little tighter,” the photographer instructed, raising his camera.
Delson chuckled and pulled my mother closer. To close the gap, I had no choice but to shift sideways, my arm brushing against the sleeve of Dax’s suit jacket.
The contact, though slight, was like touching a live wire. I flinched, a tiny, almost imperceptible movement. But I knew he felt it too.
“Big smiles!” The photographer held up his index finger as a cue.
I tried. I really did. I stretched my lips into what I hoped looked like a smile, but it felt like a pained grimace. A mask of agony. My heart hammered against my ribs.
Ignore him. Just ignore him. Keep ignoring him—
Then I felt it.
A light pressure on the small of my back.
Dax’s hand.
To anyone watching, it was a gentle familial gesture. Uncle-to-niece. But to me, it was a searing, claiming brand. His fingers curled slightly into the fabric of my dress possessively, anchoring me in place. And I felt the ghost of those same hands gripping my hips, pulling me against him in the dark.
He leaned in, his lips close to my ear, his breath warm against my skin. The photographer counted down.
“Three… two…”
“Smile, niece.” His murmur was a silken threat meant only for me. “You look so much prettier when you’re happy and careless. Reckless even.”
Flash.
The camera’s light exploded in my vision, immortalizing the moment. It captured Delson’s joy. My mother’s love. Dax’s handsome, charming smile. And my own personal, silent scream hidden behind a paper-thin façade.
The moment the photo was taken, I recoiled, pulling away as if burned.
“I… I need another drink.” The words stumbled out. I turned and fled before anyone could stop me.
I spent the rest of the night as a ghost, haunting the edges of the lively room, my eyes constantly tracking him.
I watched him charm a senator. Laugh with one of Delson’s business partners. Kiss my mother’s hand in a gesture of perfect, practiced gallantry.
He was a chameleon. A monster in a bespoke suit and no one could see it but me.
When the party finally began to wind down, I was one of the first to leave. I bid my goodbyes in a rush, hugging my mother tighter than usual, thanking Delson, congratulating them both with a sincerity born of desperation to escape.
As I turned to leave, Dax blocked my path.
“It was a pleasure meeting you again, Circe.” His voice was low enough that only I could hear.
“Likewise.” I fixed my gaze somewhere past his shoulder.
A slow, knowing smile touched his mouth.
“Do drive safely.” His eyes dropped to my lips with predatory focus. “All that wine… We’d hate to see you lose control.”
- Writer
