sunday snippet ;;
“Hey, hey,” a voice interjects as the song ends and blissful quiet fills my ringing ears. “Dancing with my fiance? Trying to make me jealous, Mira?”
I glance over my shoulder, and there he is. Dylan Milan. My fiance.
Mira laughs breathlessly and releases me from her tight hug. “Oh shut up, Dylan. Just because she's yours doesn't mean she has to stop having fun!”
My stomach turns at that phrasing. His. I bite back a scream of frustration and instead offer Dylan a smile.
“I never said that, Mira. I just want her to have fun with me.” He slips an arm around my waist, slotting me against his side like a puzzle piece that almost fits. His pearly white teeth flash in a charming smile. “Let's get you a new drink, Leora. You've been nursing that champagne for an hour; it can't possibly still be good.”
I take a deep breath and lean carefully into his chest. The plan hasn't changed, I remind myself. Play the part. “I would love one,” I reply as cheerfully as I can. “And I think Mira would be delighted to dance without two left feet hanging off of her.”
“Don't be silly!” Mira lightly smacks my arm. “You know I love—”
Dylan's hand shoots out to wrap around her wrist, tight enough to hold her in place, loose enough to look much more casual than it is. His expression is still sunshine, but his eyes are ice, sharp and jagged. The laughter and chatter around us instantly die; the only sound is the music thumping through the tense air. Every eye is on Dylan.
Cole's eyes are on me.
Dylan leans forward until his lips are a breath from Mira’s ear. She stands perfectly still, trembling, a terrified fawn before a predator’s claws. “Careful, Mira dear,” he murmurs, his voice low like a tiger's purr. “I'm very protective of what's mine.”
“I'm sorry.” I've never heard Mira so meek, so scared. “I was just being playful. I'm sorry, Dylan—”
“Dylan. That's enough.”
What the hell am I doing? My hand closes around Dylan’s wrist before my brain catches up. This is exactly the kind of mistake I don't make. The kind that gets people noticed. The kind that gets people killed. I didn't spend six months building this identity just to blow it up over someone else's mistake.
I should let Mira apologize. I need to protect the plan. Protect myself.
My hand stays on Dylan's wrist.
He doesn't move for a breath longer, his long fingers squeezing Mira's wrist exactly once — not hard, but enough to make her whimper. In a single smooth move, he releases her and straightens again, flashing the room his signature smile. “I'm glad we understand each other, Mira. Do excuse us. I believe I've promised my fiance a fresh drink.”
He sweeps me off the dance floor, his hand pressing lightly against the small of my back. The music bumps. The room releases a heavy sigh of relief. And I can't feel my breath in my throat.
