And his eyes—God.His eyes were locked on me like he’d forgotten how to look at anything else.
He moved first. Crossing the space and climbing the stairs before my brain could fully process what was happening. The room seemed to part around him without realizing it.
And then he was there.
His hand found the small of my back like it belonged there.
My skin reacted instantly. A shiver I couldn’t stop.
He leaned in. Close enough that I felt the brush of his breath before anything else. His lips grazed my cheek. Soft. And then—barely above a whisper—he breathed, “Tu es d'une beauté époustouflante,” into the nape of my neck before kissing the bare skin just below his lips.
CHAPTER 19
ALOIS
Ididn’t let her go.
Not right away.
My hand was at her waist, fingers spread, anchored.
Tu es d’une beauté renversante.The words breathed out of me so effortlessly.Stunningly beautifuldidn’t even come close to touching her radiance.
The deep green of her dress wasn’t just a color—it moved. Dark as forest shadow where the light didn’t reach, catching gold where it did, shifting with every breath she took like it had a life of its own. The fabric skimmed her body instead of clinging, but I felt every line of her through it—heat under silk, the subtle rise and fall beneath my hand, the tension she was holding just under the surface.
My thumb pressed in slightly without permission.
Her skin was warm. Warmer than it should have been.
Her shoulder caught the light as we stepped forward, bare and smooth, the curve of it clean and deliberate before it disappeared into the structured line of the gown. My gaze followed it without thinking—down the length of her arm, thecontrolled set of her wrist, the way her fingers flexed once like she was grounding herself.
The scent of her cut through everything else—through the liquor, the perfume, the polished air of the room—something softer, warmer, closer. It stayed in my head longer than it should have. Longer than anything in a place like this had a right to.
The light hit us as we stepped down the stairs and into the main ballroom—gold and glass and reflection layered over itself until the entire room felt like it had been polished within an inch of its life. It caught on the edge of her shoulder, slid down the line of her arm, fractured in the dark sheen of the floor beneath us.
I adjusted my grip without thinking—subtle, easy—my thumb shifting slightly against her side before I finally forced myself to step back.
My gaze moved without stopping, picking out faces I recognized—owners, investors, men who signed contracts and called it strategy. Women who didn’t need to speak to control a conversation.
I’d seen rooms like this before. I just didn’t belong to them.
“Try not to look like you’re planning an exit strategy.” Bea’s accent came from just beside me—low, even, threaded tight enough that anyone else would’ve missed it.
I didn’t look at her immediately. “Habit.”
That pulled her attention. “It shows.”
I felt it before I turned—sharp, assessing, like she was trying to decide if I was serious or just difficult on principle.
When I finally looked at her—it hit. Harder than it should have. She didn’t just fit here. She shifted into it. The woman who’d stood in front of me minutes ago—close enough that I could feel the heat of her, hear the change in her breathingwhen I spoke—felt contained then, like something held tight beneath the surface. Not small. Never small. Just… restrained.
And now—she was unfolding.
Not a transformation anyone in this room would recognize for what it was. Not dramatic. Not obvious. But I saw it. The slow, deliberate unfurling of something that had always been there, finally given the space to stretch into itself. The butterfly wasn’t delicate—it was precise. Controlled. Every movement intentional as she stepped forward, ready to move through the room like she owned the air in it. Her posture shifted first. Spine straightening just enough to carry authority without asking for it. Shoulders settling into something deliberate. Expression smoothing out until there was nothing left for anyone to read unless she wanted them to.
Everything about her was intentional.
Everything except what had just happened between us.