Chapter 32 Another Dance

Chapter 32 Another Dance
Isabella’s POV

“And,” I said slowly, forcing my voice to stay calm, “that doesn’t mean I agreed to another dance.”

Enzo didn’t move.

Didn’t step back.

Didn’t loosen the hand that was still resting at my waist.

If anything, the grip felt a little more certain now.

Not tight.

Just… deliberate.

The new song settled into the room, the bass slower, deeper than the last one. The kind of rhythm that made the entire crowd instinctively close the space between them.

Of course it was.

Because the universe apparently enjoyed testing my patience.

“You didn’t agree,” Enzo said.

“But you didn’t leave either.”

“That’s because you’re still holding me.”

“You could make a scene.”

“I could.”

His eyebrow lifted slightly.

“But you won’t.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You’re very confident tonight.”

“I’m observant.”

The music swelled again, vibrating through the floor beneath our feet. Around us, couples had already started moving with the slower rhythm, bodies swaying closer together under the dim lights.

The space between Enzo and me had disappeared entirely now.

Which was a problem.

A very noticeable problem.

“People are staring,” I said.

“They’re not.”

“They are.”

“They’re looking at the bar.”

“They’re definitely looking at us.”

“Then they’re jealous.”

I let out a quiet laugh despite myself.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“So I’ve been told.”

His hand shifted slightly again.

Still on my waist.

Still lower than it should reasonably be.

My breath caught before I could stop it.

Enzo noticed immediately.

Of course he did.

His gaze sharpened just a little.

“You’re reacting again.”

“I am not.”

“You are.”

“That was breathing.”

“That was not breathing.”

I exhaled sharply.

“You’re insufferable.”

“And yet you’re still here.”

There it was again.

That sentence.

That dangerous little reminder.

I could step away.

Technically.

But the crowd had thickened around us now, bodies brushing past every few seconds. Someone bumped into my shoulder again, and instinctively my hand moved to steady myself.

It landed on Enzo’s chest.

Warm.

Solid.

Very solid.

I froze.

He didn’t.

His eyes dropped briefly to where my hand rested against him.

Then slowly lifted back to my face.

“You stayed,” he said quietly.

“That was balance.”

“Of course.”

“Don’t read into it.”

“I’m not reading.”

“You’re absolutely reading.”

“I’m observing.”

I rolled my eyes, but I didn’t move my hand.

Which was… unfortunate.

Because now I could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath my palm.

And the warmth of him through his shirt.

And the way he wasn’t stepping back either.

The music slowed even further, the singer’s voice dropping into something low and smooth.

Romantic.

Dangerously romantic.

“This song is worse,” I muttered.

“Worse than what?”

“The last one.”

“Why?”

“Because now it looks like we’re choosing to stand this close.”

He tilted his head slightly.

“Aren’t we?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“You’re arguing while holding onto me.”

I glanced down at my hand like it had betrayed me.

Then immediately pulled it away.

“There.”

He didn’t comment.

But the corner of his mouth curved slightly.

Which was somehow more irritating than if he had said something.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” I said.

“Very much.”

“Why?”

“Because you keep pretending you’re not.”

My heartbeat kicked up again.

“You’re imagining things.”

“I rarely imagine.”

“That sounds like a very boring personality trait.”

“It’s efficient.”

“That’s not attractive.”

“Good thing I’m not trying to impress you.”

I blinked at him.

“That’s the first honest thing you’ve said all night.”

He leaned a fraction closer.

The distance between us shrank to almost nothing.

“You’re the one who’s trying not to be impressed.”

My stomach flipped.

Annoying.

Very annoying.

“You’re very sure of yourself.”

“I’m very sure of you.”

That did absolutely nothing good for my composure.

“You barely know me,” I said.

“I know enough.”

“You know rumors.”

“I know patterns.”

“And what pattern exactly have you figured out?”

His voice lowered slightly.

“You push people away before they get close enough to matter.”

The words landed a little harder than I expected.

For a moment, I didn’t respond.

The music wrapped around us again, the lights flickering across the crowded dance floor.

Finally, I folded my arms.

“That’s a dramatic theory.”

“It’s an accurate one.”

“You’ve known me for five minutes.”

“Long enough.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“You’re still here.”

I exhaled slowly.

There it was again.

That same statement.

Like he was building an entire argument around it.

“You’re very proud of that sentence,” I said.

“It keeps proving my point.”

“And what point is that?”

His gaze held mine steadily.

“That you want to leave.”

“Yes.”

“But you won’t.”

I lifted my chin slightly.

“Watch me.”

I took a step back.

Or at least I tried to.

The crowd surged again as more people pushed toward the dance floor.

Someone bumped into my back, forcing me forward again.

Right into Enzo.

His hands came up instantly, catching my waist before I could lose my balance.

For half a second, we were pressed together.

Chest to chest.

Breath to breath.

The world seemed to narrow around us.

“You were saying?” he murmured.

My face felt warm.

“That was the crowd.”

“Of course.”

“I was stepping away.”

“You were trying.”

“Don’t look so pleased about it.”

“I’m not.”

“You absolutely are.”

“Maybe a little.”

I shook my head.

“This is ridiculous.”

“You’re still dancing.”

“I am not dancing.”

“We’re moving to the music.”

“That’s called standing.”

“With rhythm.”

“That’s not a thing.”

“It is tonight.”

The beat dropped again, slow and steady, pulling the crowd into another wave of motion.

Enzo’s hand shifted slightly higher now, resting properly at my waist again.

Which somehow felt even worse.

Or better.

I wasn’t sure.

“You moved it,” I said quietly.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you told me to.”

“That’s surprisingly respectful.”

“I can be.”

“When you feel like it.”

“When it matters.”

His gaze softened just a fraction.

Not much.

But enough that I noticed.

“You don’t trust easily,” he said.

“That’s not your concern.”

“Maybe it is.”

“Why would it be?”

He hesitated.

Just for a second.

Then he gave the most frustratingly calm answer possible.

“Because I’m interested.”

My pulse jumped again.

“Interested in what?”

“You.”

I stared at him.

“That’s a terrible idea.”

“I’ve had worse ones.”

“You don’t even know what you’re getting into.”

“That’s half the fun.”

“You’re treating this like a game.”

“I’m treating it like a possibility.”

The music softened toward the middle of the song.

Around us, couples had started swaying even closer together now, heads leaning toward each other, conversations lost in the noise.

And somehow, despite everything I’d said…

I was still here.

Still standing in front of him.

Still letting his hand rest at my waist.

Enzo noticed the exact moment that realization crossed my mind.

His voice dropped to something quieter.

“You just realized it again.”

“Realized what?”

“That you haven’t walked away.”

I opened my mouth to argue.

But the words didn’t come out immediately.

Because unfortunately…

He was right.

And the worst part?

He knew it.

His thumb moved slightly against my waist again.

Not teasing.

Not pushing.

Just there.

Warm.

Steady.

And somehow that simple touch made my heartbeat louder than the music around us.

“You could still leave,” he said quietly.

I looked up at him.

“Then why does it feel like you don’t want me to?”

His eyes darkened slightly.

“Because I don’t.”

The honesty in that answer stole the air from my lungs for a second.

And suddenly the crowded club felt very small.

Very warm.

Very dangerous.

Because for the first time that night…

I wasn’t sure if I actually wanted to step away either.