The air in the ballroom was heavy with champagne and whispered secrets as the soft hum of voices intermingled with the sound of an invisible string quartet in the corner. I should have known by now what to expect from being Caspian Grey's fake girlfriend at another of his ridiculously extravagant events. But this evening, it was all different.
The flashes of the cameras captured us one after the other. Each click was an indication of the fraudulent lifestyle we lived together. His arm had wound possessively around my waist, and I had my hand on his chest, smiling for the lens, thus playing my assigned role. Below it lay something simmering- something that neither of us dared acknowledge.
Caspian was, as always, the epitome of control. His jaw was set; his eyes were a cold, unreadable blue. But there was a tension in his stance, a slight stiffness in the way he held me, like he was just as aware of the situation as I was, even if he refused to show it.
"Smile, darling," he murmured with a low voice that belonged only to me, his breath warm against my ear. I nodded, forcing a smile, but something about the way he said it made me shiver. Maybe it was the heat of his breath on my skin, or the fact that the words felt too intimate—too real—for what we were pretending to be.
The heat of his gaze on me in that moment while we posed for yet another round of clicking cameras was enough to create that gut-wrenching pull in my belly. This wasn't the usual cold, calculating gleam in his eyes when we were in public. No, this was different. This was something else entirely. Something that made my heart beat a little faster and my palms grow a little clammy.
The photographer shot a few more clicks and finally relaxed his lens. "Now, a kiss," he said lightly, but the expectation in his voice scrolled wonders.
I looked up at him, my heart at that moment suddenly lodged in my throat, and he merely met my gaze without breaking stride. His eyes twinkled as they fell into mine for the briefest of moments, and I thought I caught something flicker in them-like some raw unspoken feeling. But before I could define it, he leaned down, brushing my lips slowly and deliberately with his.
It was supposed to be a very short kiss- just a peck, a press-worthy peck for the cameras. But even as those lips pressed against mine, the world faded away. My heart pounded heaving against my rib cage, and I could hardly breathe, and his lips were so warm and firm but surprisingly gentle, as if testing the waters and reserving judgment on how far to let this go. I felt the press of his hand against the small of my back, pulling me closer, and my body responded before I could stop it.
My fingers curled around his collar, leaning my body into his as if it was natural, as if we had been kissing each other for years, not pretending for a camera. Between us stretched something hot and unignorably. The world faded for us, and for a moment, it felt like just us—no cameras, no arrangements, no farce of a relationship. Just him and me.
But then Caspian pulled away just as soon. His hands fell to his sides, and his expression went back to that inscrutable face I had come to dread and admire. I blinked as I tried to collect myself, gasping slightly for breath. My lips tingled where his had been, and I was trembling from head to toe.
I looked up at him, seeking to read his thoughts from his face, but all I saw was the same cool indifference. He looked far away, like he was back in control. Like he had not just kissed me in a way that made my entire body ache with longing.
“You did well,” his voice was detached, almost businesslike. It stung, like a slap to my face-among other things. A reminder that this was all just a game. A lie.
A lie. And I could swear that he was lying to himself just about as much as he was lying to me.
“Well, that’s what I’m here for,” I replied, trying to sound steady, but the shakiness was still evident in my voice. My fingers clenched my sides, pulse thudding in my throat. The kiss had to mean something, at least to me. But I was starting to think it might have meant something to him too.
Caspian’s assistant suddenly appeared beside us, ushering us toward the exit in a very businesslike manner. I followed, my legs feeling shaky. Still recovering from the kiss, I tried to make sense of the whirlwind of feelings churning inside me.
As soon as we stepped out of the gala, the cool night air hit my skin, and I could breathe a little easier. But the tension between Caspian and me was thick; somehow, the kiss had changed something between us, something that we were neither ready to face.
Not a word left Caspian’s mouth as we walked toward the car idling outside. His posture was rigid, and his jaw was set. I knew better than to break silence. I stole a glance, but he didn’t look my way; instead, he stared straight ahead, indifference etched back onto his features.
The car door shut softly behind us. The driver didn’t help carry the load of this dead silence with any idle chit-chat. I struggled to think of anything to say that might clear the air, but the words choked the hell out of me with dry conviction.
“Back to the penthouse,” Caspian finally said, his voice cold and commanding. I didn’t speak; I couldn’t. What I wanted to say was trapped deep inside me, tangled with all the confusion I was feeling.
For the whole ride through the city, I couldn’t stop running my mind back to that kiss—every move of his lips against mine, the way he’d held me so close he could hardly help himself. There had been something more in that kiss, something real, raw. But then he’d pulled back, and it was like the lights went back on in the cold, closed-off exterior I’d come to know, leaving me there to mourn the wreckage of a moment.
Caspian left the car at the penthouse entrance and began walking away. I followed, still a little shaky as I staggered up the steps. My mind was in complete disarray, desperate to interpret what had just happened in the last several hours.
When I entered the penthouse, the silence looming between us felt heavier than it had since that day. Caspian had already made his way to the living room and was pouring himself a drink without addressing me. I stood in the entrance, watching him, that familiar ache in my chest starting up again.
He turned back to me, and our eyes met. But this time, there was no smirk, no mask of business. For one agonizing second, something else appeared in his expression—something tender—an inkling of vulnerability?
But just as quickly, it vanished.
“Go to bed, Lily,” he said, his voice softer than I was expecting but still authoritative. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
I felt a burning urge to argue with him, to say something, anything to keep us tethered. But the words stayed stuck in my throat. So I nodded and turned down the hallway; but instead of heading to my room, I lingered at the top of the staircase, gazing down into the darkness, contemplating how to deal with the emotional storm brewing inside of me.
And the sensation in my chest that wouldn’t quite settle suggested irrevocably that kiss had changed everything between us, an alteration he might be unaware of, but an alteration that had somehow shifted something we both knew we were too afraid to face.