Scandalized

“Out there?” I hook a thumb over my shoulder. “That’s Billy. I should introduce you.”

“Sure.” He drags his fingertips possessively along my collarbone. Over my shoulder. His touch teases down the low front of my gown. He directs his question to my cleavage. “He’s your boss?”

“Yes.” I stretch, kissing his chin. “He’s a grouch and a perfectionist and doesn’t need sleep, but he’s great.” I feel the presence of words he’s not saying like an elastic band pulled tighter and tighter. “Alec?”

“Hmm?”

“Am I here because you’re jealous?”

He meets my eyes squarely. “A little bit, I think.”

I can’t help it; I laugh. “Seriously? I’m surprised you even noticed me in the room.”

“I noticed you within about thirty seconds but it took a while for you to look over at me.”

“Not true,” I say. “I saw you the second you walked in with Yael.”

He draws a finger over my bottom lip. “I realized this story is going to get you a lot of attention, and there is a roomful of men out there you might date when I leave.”

Reaching up, I cup his face. Is he serious? I cannot imagine how any other man could measure up now. Before Alec, this kind of connection would have sounded made up, preposterously fictional. Now I worry every morning that this will be the last great romance of my life—extra devastating if it ends in a matter of days. I try to shape these thoughts into words, but I can’t. I am a thin glass vessel, carrying too many volatile emotions inside.

So instead, I fall back on teasing. “How dare you be jealous. Have you seen yourself?”

But Alec doesn’t play along. “Have you?” He grips my shoulders, turning me so I face a mirror.

And my breath feels suctioned from my chest.

We’ve stood side by side at the sink, brushing teeth. We’ve passed the mirror together on our way out of the hotel room, headed in separate directions. Out on the terrace, we are surrounded by gleaming windows; clearly, I know what we look like in a reflection. But here, with both of us dressed completely in black, and with mirrors in front of us and behind us, reflecting a thousand versions of the black-tie couple in smaller and smaller boxes, we’re… so good together. I come up to his shoulder, and his big hand curves possessively around my waist. He’s golden; I’m olive-skinned. His hair is neatly combed off his forehead; mine falls straight and glossy down my back. His eyes are dark and soulful, mine hazel and dancing. Together we are perfect. And for a flash, maybe only a handful of seconds, I know we experience the same thing: we can see ourselves standing side by side in a reeling collection of future moments. Welcoming friends at our front door. Walking through LA with fingers interlinked. Standing at the bedside of a loved one. Standing at the altar.

I blink, and it’s gone. It’s just the two of us in front of a thousand reflections, in a mirror ringed with golden lights, but I know by the look on his face that it happened to him, too.

He pushes my hair aside, bending to suck my neck, and I can’t take my eyes off our reflection. I watch his hand slide up my side, up over my chest, spreading over the deep V of the bodice, cupping my breast.

“I promise I’m not possessive,” he says quietly. “Not usually.” We both stare at the reflection of his fingertips drawing slow circles over my nipple, above the gown. “So why do I feel this way?”

“I don’t know. Why do you?”

“Is it crazy? Feeling this after only eleven days?”

“I mean it,” I say. “Why do you feel this way?”

He meets my eyes. “Are you not looking?”

“Come on.” I still his fingers on my breast. “I’m confident about how I look, but there are beautiful women everywhere. That isn’t why you feel this way about me specifically.” It’s weird how the question swells in my mind until it feels like a hot-air balloon, carrying every other thought away. Why me? Why now? And God, why is it like this?

He closes his eyes, bending to kiss my shoulder. “Okay.” Nodding, he seems to consider this. “Aside from the chemistry between us? I’m aware that you’re genuinely amazing. You went to London to chase down a story you saw on a random Twitter feed and are fearlessly pursuing it, no matter how sinister it’s become.” He looks up, meets my eyes. “Your long-term boyfriend lied to you for an entire year about something enormous, and you had the strength to cut him out so completely that not only have you not spoken to him since the day you told him you knew about his lie, but you let go of your entire friend group who encouraged you to forgive him. You tore into me for not telling you who I was, and you don’t let Yael bully you into doing what she wants. You’re funny and vulnerable and honest. You don’t stare at your reflection in the mirror unless I point it out to you. You’re reasonable and confident. You know where I come from, who I was before I became Alexander Kim. You’re passionate in bed to a degree I’ve never experienced, and every time I find out something new about you, I seem to f—” He stops, adjusting his mouth around a word. “I seem to feel more.”

I chew my lip, bite-strangling the smile.

His eyes shine as he watches me. “I take it that answer is acceptable?”

I laugh, turning to hug him. “That answer is acceptable.”

“I can bring you to London at least once a month,” he says, and his gaze moves back and forth between my eyes. “I want to be with you.”

“I want to be with you, too.”

And just that simply, it’s settled.