Affairs Of The Heart: A Désiré Doué x Original Character Erotic Series.
Tiptoeing across the warm stone balcony, Avery balanced the frosted glass in both hands as she approached the sun lounger where Désiré lay stretched in the shade.
The ocean behind him was impossibly blue, dissolving into the sky until there was no clear line between the two. He had one forearm tucked beneath his head, eyes closed, the afternoon sun catching the lighter curls at the front of his hair.
A pair of sunglasses rested abandoned on the small table beside him, forgotten sometime between breakfast and the blissful decision to do absolutely nothing.
She lowered herself into his lap, straddling his hips before he could even open his eyes. The sudden weight, the direct contact, pulled a low hum from his chest as his eyes fluttered open, meeting hers from inches away.
The thin nylon of her bikini bottom, little more than a strip of fabric, was no barrier at all. She settled fully, grinding down with deliberate slowness until every last inch of her was pressed flush against the hard line of his swim shorts.
She could feel the shape of him through both layers; the yielding cotton, the heat of her own flesh, she arched her back slightly increasing the pressure, she watched his eyelids lower by a fraction as her reached for her.
“Hi,” she whispered, her voice soft against the distant sound of crashing waves.
A slow smile spread across his face, catching in the corner of his mouth before reaching his eyes, which held hers with a lazy warmth.
“Off,” he murmured, tugging on the hem of her T-shirt that fit her like a second skin.
Conscious of her new nipple piercing, Désiré slowly lifted the tee over her head, exposing her bare breasts and the small, silver barbell through her left nipple. The sun’s warmth hit her skin immediately.
His eyes traced down, his smile fading into something more concentrated, a look of focused assessment. His thumb came up, feather-light, to circle the piercing, testing its solidity, the slightly swollen flesh around it.
He didn’t speak. He simply held her gaze and traced the outline of the silver barbell with a careful fingertip, the touch sending a sharp, precise current straight through her core. His other hand came up to cup her right breast, his thumb stroking over the unadorned nipple, comparing the two.
Avery held her breath, her hips still pressed firmly down against the growing hardness beneath her. The contrast was dizzying: the clinical, almost surgical feel of the metal against his skin, and the warm, pliant softness of the rest of her.
“Does it hurt?” His voice was quiet, a low rumble she felt more than heard.
“A little.” She shifted, rolling her hips in a slow, deliberate circle, grinding the heat of her against him through their swimwear. “It's really sensitive.”
He watched her carefully, not with the hunger that had flashed across his face a moment earlier, but with an attentiveness that made her chest tighten.
“A little?” he echoed, one eyebrow lifting.
“It was worth it,” she smiled, knowing he wasn’t convinced. “I'm okay.”
“You're so beautiful,” Désiré drawled.
The words hung between them in the warm air, simple and devastating. Her practised smile faltered for a half-second. She was used to compliments, to rehearsed adoration, but this felt different.
The compliment wasn’t about a look, her brand, or image. It was about her, on this lap, her face free of any makeup; as she sat with the metal in her breast serving as a reminder of a moment in time neither would soon forget.
Before she could formulate a response, his hand slid from her hip down the outside of her thigh, then back up, his fingers slipping into the back of her bikini bottoms, and resting there.
Despite their proximity neither Désiré nor Avery pushed further than the closeness they shared; content with being as close as their bodies would allow.
Désiré's fingers flexed against the small of her back, pressing her down more firmly against him. The heat between them, already significant, intensified into a specific, undeniable pressure.
He turned his head, burying his face against the side of her neck, inhaling slowly; as his lips brushed her pulse point, a gesture that felt more intimate than anything overtly sexual.
Avery's body melted against Désiré’s as he held her; her mind going completely blank as she turned her head in search of his lips.
Her lips met his halfway, the kiss deepening immediately, tasting of salt and sun and him. His hand cradled the back of her head, fingers tangling in the damp strands of her high ponytail, pulling it loose.
It wasn't a gentle kiss; it was a claiming, a final answer to a question they'd both been circling. The slow heat that had been building between their bodies ignited, a flare of pure need.
His other hand, still resting against her lower back, slid the fabric of her bikini bottoms aside with a single, decisive tug. The cool air against her exposed skin was a shock, followed instantly by the scorching pressure of his palm, cupping her bare ass, pulling her tighter against him.
The rigid length of him, still confined by his own swim shorts, pressed directly against her, separated only by two thin layers of their clothing. Avery gasped into his mouth, her hips bucking forward instinctively, grinding herself against that solid ridge, a low moan escaping her throat.
Désiré broke the kiss, his breathing ragged. He looked up at her, his dark eyes completely black, pupils blown wide. "Tu es sûre?" he asked, the formal French construction at odds with the raw desire etched on his face.
Avery didn't answer with words. Instead, she reached between their bodies, her fingers fumbling for the drawstring of his swim shorts. Her hands trembling, but her intent clear. The knot gave way easily. She pushed the fabric down over his hips, just enough, her fingers brushing against the hot, silken skin of his cock.
He was already fully hard, the thick vein along the underside pulsing against her touch. A shudder ran through him, his head falling back against the lounger with a soft thud.
Avery shifted her weight, rising up on her knees to straddle him more fully. She hooked her thumbs into the sides of her own bikini bottoms, shimmying them down her thighs until they were a discarded tangle of fabric around her ankles. The late afternoon sun warmed her completely bare skin, the breeze a whispering contrast that made her nipples tighten.
She looked down at him, at the stark, beautiful reality of their bodies about to join. The control she'd once wielded like a weapon was gone, a distant memory in the poolside lounge chair they occupied. All that was left was a terrifying, exhilarating want.
She lowered herself slowly, guiding him with one hand. The blunt, slick head of him pressed against her entrance, and she paused, hovering there, her body trembling with anticipation. Désiré’s hands came up to grip her hips, his thumbs pressing into the sharp curves of her pelvis bones.
He didn't push. He waited, his gaze locked on hers, giving her the final say. The world narrowed to their point of contact, to the pounding of her own heart, to the silent question in his eyes.
A soft moan slipped from Avery’s parted lips as she sank down, letting her body take him in. The first slow inch was a stretch, a deep, filling burn that made her breath hitch. She held there, suspended, feeling the exquisite pressure, the way her body yielded and clenched around him. Then she lowered herself further, a deliberate, controlled descent that surrendered the last of her pretence.
A ragged groan tore from Désiré’s throat, his hands tightening on her hips, his knuckles lightening a shade against her skin. His eyes squeezed shut for a moment before he forced them open, watching her face as she seated herself fully, taking every last inch of him.
He was buried so deep inside her, so perfectly full, that for a drawn-out moment they both simply remained still, breathing in rough, uneven syncopation. Avery’s body clenched reflexively around the thick, hot length of him, a pulsing rhythm that drew another guttural sound from his chest.
His hands on her hips were firm but surrendered, his thumbs stroking slow circles against her skin.
“Do what you want with me,” Désiré said, his voice rough and wrecked, the French accent thickening the words. His dark eyes were hazy, pupils blown wide with want. “All of it.”
The command, whispered from a place of complete submission, ignited something feral in her. Avery began to move, a slow, grinding roll of her hips that made him hiss through his teeth.
She leaned back, planting her hands on his thighs, using the leverage to lift herself nearly all the way off him before sinking back down with more force. The slap of skin against skin was obscenely loud in the quiet air.
She set a deliberate, punishing pace, each downward plunge taking him deeper. The wet, filthy sound of their joining was a counterpoint to her own sharp gasps. Désiré's hands flexed against her, but they never tried to steer or control. He just held on, his head tipped back, throat exposed, jaw clenched as she rode him with a focused, almost possessive intensity.
Avery felt the sweat begin to slick the skin of his abdomen where it met her own. Her movements grew sloppier, less measured, driven purely by the need to chase the tightening coil of pleasure in her own belly.
She fucked him like she owned him, like he was a toy made for her pleasure, and he took it all, his body a taut, trembling in offering beneath hers.
“Fuck,” he groaned, the word a raw scrape of air. His hips bucked up involuntarily, meeting one of her downward strokes, and the new angle made her eyes roll back, and she cried out; a sharp, high-pitched sound, as her rhythm fractured into a wild desperation.
Drawn by the sound of her name ripped from his lips, Avery collapsed forward, her mouth finding Désiré’s. The kiss was wet and open-mouthed, tasting of want and salt. She ground herself down onto him one final, desperate time, her body clamping tight.
“Do it,” she gasped against his mouth, the words mangled. “Cum inside me.”
It was an order, a demand for final, messy proof. He groaned into her mouth, his body arching up off the chair as he obeyed. Avery felt the hot pulse deep within her, a series of warm spurts that sent another shuddering wave through her own muscles. She rode him through it, milking him with slow, possessive rolls of her hips until he went utterly slack beneath her.
For a long minute, they stayed like that, tangled and slick. Then, with a soft grunt, Avery pushed herself up, her legs trembling as she moved to lie beside him.
“Inside. Now.” Before she could lower her body onto the lounger, Désiré took her hand and tugged gently.
She followed wordlessly, still dazed, as he led her from the poolside through the sliding glass doors into the cool, dim villa. They didn’t speak. They didn’t clean up. They just climbed into the massive, rumpled bed, their bodies finding each other in the tangle of sheets.
Exhaustion hit her like a drug, the adrenaline of control and release draining away. She was asleep within seconds, her face pressed against the damp skin of his shoulder.
Avery woke to a sliver of late afternoon light cutting across the bed. Désiré was still asleep beside her, one arm flung across his face, his breathing deep and even. She slipped from the bed, her muscles pleasantly sore. The scent of sex and chlorine clung to her skin.
Padding into the ensuite bathroom, she turned the shower on full, the hot water a scalding relief. She stood under the spray for a long time, letting it wash the afternoon away.
When she finally stepped out, wrapped in a thick towel, her phone's melodic ringtone echoed from somewhere in the bedroom just as she tightened the towel around herself.
She glanced back toward the bed. Désiré hadn’t stirred. One arm remained draped across his face, his breathing slow and even, completely oblivious to the world beyond the bedroom.
Smiling to herself, Avery crossed to the bedside table where her phone vibrated insistently against the wood. The screen lit up with a familiar name.
She answered immediately, lowering her voice out of instinct more than necessity.
“There you are,” Tabitha laughed. “I was beginning to think Miami had swallowed you whole.”
“It nearly did,” Avery replied with a smile, brushing damp hair back over her shoulder.
“I was going to ask if you fancied grabbing dinner later, but judging by that voice…” Tabitha paused. “You sound half-asleep.”
“I didn’t wake you, did I?”
Avery glanced across the room toward the bed.
“No. You actually have pretty good timing.”
“You didn’t tell me you were coming over.”
“I thought I’d surprise you.” There was a grin in Tabitha’s voice. “Unless this is a terrible time?”
“It’s definitely unexpected.”
“No.” Avery smiled. “Give me two minutes.”
She ended the call and stood still for a moment, looking back toward the sleeping figure in the bed.
The afternoon light softened every sharp edge of him. One leg was tangled in the sheets, curls falling untidily across his forehead. For someone whose life was lived beneath stadium floodlights and camera flashes, he looked remarkably peaceful.
Careful not to wake him, Avery decided against rummaging through her bags and pulled on a loose cotton robe before quickly running a brush through her damp hair.
She slipped her phone into the pocket of the robe, took one last glance towards the bed, and quietly eased the bedroom door shut behind her.
The villa was hushed as she descended the staircase, broken only by the distant rhythm of waves rolling onto the beach beyond the terrace.
Crossing the entrance hall, she unlocked the front door and pulled it open.
“Hi,” Avery whispered, her smile widening as she pulled open the door to her best friend.
“There she is,” Tabitha grinned, immediately wrapping her in a hug.
Born and raised in New York, Tabitha had somehow conquered an industry that rarely let anyone stay on top for long. At just twenty-seven, she’d styled campaigns for some of fashion’s biggest houses, dressed celebrities for the Met Gala, and built a reputation people twice her age envied. None of it had changed her.
If anything, success had only amplified what Avery loved most about her: the easy generosity, the quick wit, and the uncanny ability to make every room feel lighter simply by walking into it.
In an industry built on ego, Tabitha remained one of the most beautiful souls Avery had ever known.
“I feel like it’s been forever,” Avery whispered, earning a puzzled look from her best friend.
“Why are you whispering?” Tabitha blinked.
“I’m… trying to be considerate,” Avery said, instinctively glancing over her shoulder, as though someone might be standing in the hallway.
“Of who?” Tabitha folded her arms.
“Someone’s here.” Avery hesitated for exactly one beat too long.
A slow, knowing smile spread across Tabitha’s face.
“You have a man in your villa.”
“I didn’t say that.” Avery bit the inside of her cheek, unable to stop herself from smiling.
Tabitha laughed, shaking her head in amusement as she took a closer look at her best friend, who wore all the unmistakable signs of a woman who’d spent the afternoon hopelessly distracted.
Her cheeks still held the flush of the Miami sun, her lips curved into an absent smile she seemed incapable of suppressing, and there was a softness around her eyes Avery hadn’t carried in years.
Avery let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head as she led Tabitha farther into the villa.
“Can I at least offer you something to drink before you interrogate me?”
“Absolutely not.” Tabitha pointed an accusing finger at her. “You have exactly thirty seconds before I start making wild assumptions.”
“I’m… seeing someone,” Avery admitted, the words sounding strangely unfamiliar in her own voice. She busied herself with the drinks cabinet, reaching for two chilled bottles of sparkling water more for something to do with her hands than because either of them needed one.
Tabitha watched her in silence, accepting the bottle once Avery twisted the cap free and slid it across the marble island. She didn’t rush to speak. She knew Avery well enough to recognise that every sentence she volunteered had probably been rehearsed in her head half a dozen times before it reached her lips.
“Seeing someone?” Tabitha repeated, the corners of her mouth lifting. “Avery, the last time you said you were ‘seeing someone,’ it meant you’d had coffee with a man twice and were already looking for reasons to end it.”
Avery laughed softly, lowering her eyes.
The smile on Tabitha’s face softened almost immediately.
Avery rested both palms against the cool marble, searching for an answer that didn’t make her sound completely unrecognisable to herself.
“I don’t feel like I’m protecting myself all the time anymore,” she admitted quietly. “It’s unsettling.”
Tabitha studied her for a long moment before asking the question she already knew the answer to.
“Upstairs?” Tabitha’s eyebrows climbed. “As in… the bedroom you’re sleeping in?”
Tabitha stared at her for a moment before recognition flooded her face.
“Wait…” She blinked. “How old is he?”
“He’s twenty-one,” Avery admitted, the number falling from her lips before she could soften it.
Tabitha’s expression flickered; not quite shock, but something close. She carefully set her bottle down on the island.
“As in… six years younger than you?”
“Exactly.” Avery smeared her thumb through the condensation on her bottle, watching a droplet trail lazily down the glass.
Tabitha was quiet for a beat, processing.
“And he’s asleep in your bed right now?”
Avery shot her a look, but there was no judgment in Tabitha’s expression; only the careful concern of someone choosing her next words with great care.
“You’re not helping.” Avery sighed, closing her eyes for a brief second.
“I’m not trying to help yet.” Tabitha leaned both elbows onto the island, concern replacing the amusement in her expression. “Avery… he’s twenty-one. He’s one of the biggest young footballers in Europe. His life is cameras, speculation, people wanting something from him. Does he even get to have a private life?”
“He’s different,” Avery said, hearing how naïve it sounded even as the words left her mouth.
Tabitha didn’t challenge her. She simply waited.
“I know how this looks,” Avery continued, quieter now. “I know what people would say. Cougar. Desperate. Midlife crisis at fucking twenty-seven.” She shook her head with a humourless smile. “I’ve run all the headlines already. Multiple versions.”
“And I still invited him to Miami.”
The admission lingered between them, raw and unpolished.
Tabitha watched her for a long moment before a small smile found its way onto her face.
“You didn’t just invite him to Miami,” she said gently.
“You invited him into your life.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“For you?” Tabitha shook her head softly. “It is.”
Avery looked away toward the ocean beyond the open glass doors, letting the words settle.
It wasn’t a question. It was an observation.
“I like him,” Avery echoed, the confession feeling both terrifying and liberating. “He’s… God, Tab, he’s not what you’d expect.”
Tabitha was silent for a long moment.
Avery thought of Paris. Of New York. Of the tattoo studio. Of the way he had cleaned her new piercing with such unwavering gentleness, the way he’d never once rushed her, never once asked her to become someone she wasn’t.
“I do,” she admitted softly. “That’s the terrifying part.”
“So the article Taylor wrote… it was him?” Tabitha asked, connecting the dots.
“She saw me at a game, we had a drink in the city afterwards and Désiré picked me up from the bar we were at. Not once did she actually see us together, but I guess it was enough for her to speculate.” Avery let out a quiet, humourless laugh. “She never asked me for comment. Never called. Never texted. She just published it.”
“She didn’t even know it was him?”
“No. She didn’t know anything.” She twisted the cap of her bottle between her fingers.
“She knew I went to the game, so she wrote that I was supposedly involved with one of the players. She never named anyone because she couldn’t.”
“Fucking snake,” Tabitha spat, her expression hardening. “That's so exploitative.”
“After that I left Désiré in New York to start preseason and headed back to Los Angeles,” Avery explained quietly. “I thought putting a few thousand miles between us would make everything… less complicated.”
Tabitha raised an eyebrow.
“I’m guessing it didn’t.”
“Not even a little.” Avery laughed softly.
She smiled despite herself, remembering the evening France were knocked out of the World Cup.
“He called me that night.” Her voice softened. “I’d been watching the match at home, and I remember thinking he’d probably have a hundred people trying to get hold of him. His family. His teammates. The press.”
She looked down at the bottle in her hands.
Tabitha listened without interrupting.
“He wasn’t looking for anyone to tell him everything would be okay.” Avery smiled faintly. “He just… wanted me.”
The admission lingered between them.
“We spoke for a little while,” Avery continued. “Nothing extraordinary. He asked how I was. I asked how he was holding up. We talked until it felt like neither of us had anything left to say.” She recalled letting out a quiet laugh.
“The next morning I booked the first flight to New York.”
“I spent almost two weeks telling myself I needed space.” Avery shrugged. “One phone call was enough to make me realise that maybe space wasn’t what I wanted.”
“So you flew to him?” A knowing smile spread across Tabitha’s face.
“I flew to him.” Avery nodded, glancing instinctively toward the hall before meeting her best friend's gaze.
Avery let the silence settle for a moment, neither woman feeling any particular need to fill it. Beyond the open doors, the ocean shimmered beneath the late afternoon sun, and somewhere outside a seagull cried overhead before disappearing into the humid Miami air.
Without really thinking about it, Avery wandered toward the console table near the entrance. Her small black Chanel purse sat exactly where she’d left it. She reached inside with the absent-minded familiarity of habit, retrieving a slim silver blister pack.
She popped one tablet free with her thumb, as the soft click of plastic echoed through the quiet kitchen.
Tabitha watched her for a second before her eyes widened in realisation.
“…Are those birth control pills?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Avery glanced down at the packet in her hand as though she’d only just remembered what she was holding. “They are.”
Tabitha’s eyes lingered on the silver blister pack for a moment before lifting back to Avery’s face. “When did you start taking it?”
There was no judgment in Tabitha’s expression. Only understanding. “You thought you were going to see him again?”
“I don't know; I guess I hoped I would.” Avery gave the smallest shrug. “One night was supposed to be enough.”
“Now I don’t think one night was ever going to be enough.” Avery smiled to herself, a quiet, almost disbelieving smile.
A soft shuffle of bare feet on the hardwood floor announced him before he did.
Désiré appeared in the open archway that led from the living area into the vast white kitchen. He stood there, blinking sleep from his dark eyes, his bleached curls slightly flattened on one side.
He was shirtless, the smooth, muscular planes of his torso and shoulders on full display, a pair of low-slung grey sweatpants hanging from his hips. He scanned the room, his gaze landing on Avery first, a soft, instinctual focus settling there before it widened to include the other woman at the island.
Avery turned, her expression softening immediately. “Oh, you’re up.”
He nodded, a small, private smile touching his lips as he padded toward them. He didn't seem self-conscious about his state of undress in the slightest; it was just how he was, natural and unperformed. His attention flicked politely to Tabitha, who was watching with a carefully neutral expression, her brows slightly raised.
“Désiré, this is my best friend, Tabitha,” Avery said, her voice warm. “Tabitha, this is Désiré.”
He gave a small, respectful nod. “It is a pleasure to meet you,” he said, his voice still a little rough with sleep, the French cadence more pronounced. His eyes, however, drifted back to Avery almost immediately, as if pulled by a magnet.
Without preamble, he closed the last step between them. His hand came up to cup her elbow gently, then slid around her waist, drawing her smoothly against him. Avery went easily, her body fitting against the warmth of his bare chest with a familiarity that made Tabitha’s breath catch. He dipped his head, his lips brushing the shell of Avery’s ear.
Tabitha watched, transfixed. The sheer physical difference between them was more striking than anything her imagination could've conjured; Avery was several inches shorter than him, her head tucking perfectly beneath his chin.
But it wasn't just the height. It was the way his hand splayed possessively, protectively, against the small of her back, his fingers flexing slightly. It was the way Avery’s own hand came up almost reflexively to rest on his sternum, her thumb stroking a small, absent circle over his skin. Neither of them seemed aware they were doing it; it just seemed to be their default state when in close proximity to one another.
Désiré whispered something, too low for Tabitha to catch. Avery’s shoulders relaxed, and a genuine, unguarded smile broke across her face; a look Tabitha hadn’t seen in a while. She nodded against his chest, murmuring something back.
Watching them, Tabitha felt a piece of the puzzle click into place. She had expected chemistry. She hadn’t expected quiet. She hadn’t expected the way Avery visibly relaxed the moment he crossed the room, or the way Désiré reached for her without hesitation, as though touching her had already become second nature. It wasn’t theatrical or possessive. It looked effortless.
By the time late afternoon transformed into dusk; the marina shimmered beneath thousands of suspended lights, each yacht anchored at the dock reflecting ribbons of gold across the dark water. Music drifted through the warm evening air; not loud enough to overwhelm conversation, but enough to blur the edges of the crowd into a constant pulse of movement.
Drivers, sponsors, athletes, models and actors moved between the terraces with glasses of champagne balanced effortlessly in hand, the opening weekend of Formula One bringing together the kind of people who were accustomed to cameras following them wherever they went.
Avery had changed twice before settling on the dress currently skimming her body; it was unmistakably Miami.
The black jersey clung softly to her figure, the abstract zebra print wrapping across her torso before disappearing around the completely open back. The hem barely grazed the tops of her thighs, balanced by impossibly high black platform heels that lengthened her elegant frame.
Her hair had been pulled into a sleek ponytail, exposing the delicate diamond studs at her ears, while her makeup remained almost imperceptible, all glowing skin and glossed lips.
She had spent enough years attending events like this to understand that the most memorable women rarely looked as though they had tried too hard.
Désiré had arrived separately from Avery and Tabitha, but prior to leaving the villa in his own chauffeur-driven car made sure to let her know just how much he appreciated her outfit choice.
Inside the party; conversations overlapped with laughter and the steady pulse of music. Waiters weaved effortlessly between guests carrying silver trays balanced with champagne flutes, while flashes from photographers outside occasionally burst through the open entrance.
The guest list read like the front row of Fashion Week crossed with the Formula One paddock. Drivers stood talking with luxury sponsors, Hollywood actors laughed beside athletes, and designers embraced musicians they’d dressed only weeks earlier. Everyone seemed to know someone, and everyone, whether they admitted it or not, was quietly watching everyone else.
Avery recognised at least half the room. She moved through the crowd with the effortless ease that came from years of attending events exactly like this, exchanging kisses on cheeks, brief embraces and polished conversations that somehow managed to feel warm despite lasting no more than thirty seconds. She had perfected this version of herself years ago; gracious, poised and endlessly composed.
Tonight, however, her attention kept drifting elsewhere.
Not obviously. Never long enough for anyone to notice. Just enough to quietly map the room between conversations.
It took almost five minutes before she found him.
Désiré stood near the edge of the main terrace speaking with several men he was clearly familiar with. His black slack impeccably tailored to fall perfectly over the Nike sneakers he wore, paired with a white shirt left open at the collar, making him appear older than twenty-one without disguising the youthful ease that still lingered in the way he carried himself.
He smiled politely at something one of the executives had said, looking every bit the composed professional footballer accustomed to rooms exactly like this.
From where Avery stood, he looked completely at ease. As though he’d attended events like this his entire life. As though she hadn’t spent the afternoon asleep beside him only hours earlier.
Almost absently, his gaze swept across the room.
For the briefest moment, their eyes met.
No smile crossed either of their faces. No lingering glance. No subtle acknowledgement that would have meant anything to anyone watching. A heartbeat later he looked away again, seamlessly returning to his conversation, and Avery did exactly the same, accepting a glass of champagne from a passing waiter without breaking stride.
Anyone observing them would have assumed they were complete strangers.
“You’re staring,” Tabitha said quietly beside her.
Avery glanced sideways. “What?”
A knowing smile tugged at the corner of Tabitha’s mouth as she lifted her champagne flute. “You’ve looked in his direction three times already.”
Before Avery could argue her case, a familiar voice slipped smoothly through the surrounding conversation.
Taylor stood only a few feet away, a champagne flute balanced delicately between perfectly manicured fingers. She smiled with practiced elegance, the kind reserved for cameras and crowded rooms.
It never reached her eyes.
