6. Liam

The silky fabric of my red tie glides under my fingers as the limousine cruises toward the hotel. Nerves, a sensation unfamiliar to me, churn in my stomach. Despite a life spent in the limelight, tonight's anticipation feels different. Unique. It's not a date, just an evening among acquaintances, a favor for a friend. Or so I keep telling myself, even as the voice in my head accuses me of lying.

"They're here," Ethan mutters, adjusting his cuffs with nervous energy as Cole stands straighter. It's somewhat reassuring to know I'm not the only one feeling the tension of the night.

Yes, but they are not you, are they?

As the limo pulls up in front of the hotel, I can't shake the inner voice that challenges my calm facade. When the door swings open and Nessa steps out, any semblance of my composure falters. She moves with an effortless grace that leaves me momentarily speechless. Her dress clinging to her lithe figure ? sends a twist through my gut and an unwelcome stirring in my pants.

She should come with a warning label, as each glance shatters a bit more of my composed exterior.

I'm transfixed, caught off guard by her presence. The way she looks up, locking eyes with me, only knots my stomach further. A smile breaks across my face, unbidden and genuine, as I descend the two steps to meet her. There's an involuntary lightness in my steps, drawn in by her presence as I extend my hand for her to take. I'm about to tell her how beautiful she is when Cole's voice breaks through the magic of the moment.

"Where the fuck is Eva?" His voice carries a dark edge I'm not a fan of. This is usually when his volatile nature takes over, and mistakes are made.

Nessa glances at Poppy.

"She… uh, she couldn't make it. She's sick," Poppy stammers, and I wince.

Is she really that bad of a liar? She should not even bother.

Cole's eyes narrow, and I steel myself for the familiar task of playing the mediator. But, to my surprise, Ethan steps in with a calm, authoritative tone.

"It's alright, Cole. Let's not ruin the evening over this." He shoots Poppy an apologetic look, and I realize he's the one with the most to lose tonight.

Cole's jaw clenches, his gaze darting behind us, calculating and tense. I'm about to intervene, to try and dissuade him from whatever course he's contemplating, but he turns sharply and strides away.

I should follow, try to reason with him, but the magnetic pull of the woman next to me holds me back. Nessa's voice cuts through the tension, "What's up with Small Prick?" Her casual jab at Cole lightens the mood, drawing an amused look from Ethan. "I'm sure he only needs to snap his fingers to have ten desperate girls at his feet."

"I thought I was Small Prick," Ethan quips, his posture relaxing.

Nessa's smirk is mischievous. "You're all Small Prick," she says, her gaze drifting to me. My heart races under her scrutiny. "Except you. I honestly hope you're not."

Challenge accepted. Tonight, I'm not Liam Ashford with burdens and expectations. I'm just Liam, ready for whatever comes. I offer my arm with a grin. "One way to find out."

She doesn't expect the return of banter, and the way she catches her breath creates a dip at the base of her throat that I long to kiss.

Get a grip, man!I chastise myself as we turn around and go up the marble stairs to join the party.

"I'm sorry for the drama," I tell her as we walk in, but she ignores me, probably taken aback by how ostentatious the room decoration is.

"Vanessa?" I brush my fingers on her shoulder, and she turns toward me with wonder.

"I'm sorry, I… just… what did you say?" she asks with a sheepish smile, but I can feel the way she tenses under my touch, and it's like she's bracing herself. My gaze lingers on her, noting the slight stiffening of her posture, a guarded look flashing briefly in her eyes. It's a subtle tell, hinting at something concealed beneath her poised exterior. I feel a tug of curiosity, an inexplicable need to uncover her mystery, even if I know it's hypocritical in the grand scheme of things because I'm hiding something myself.

"I was just apologizing for the drama outside," I repeat, my voice softening when she meets my gaze, her eyes a mix of emotions, and I'm struck by the vulnerability there.

Her smile wavers slightly, a fleeting moment of uncertainty crossing her features. "Oh, don't worry about it. It's not like you can control Cole's mood swings."

I nod, but her response doesn't fully dismiss the nagging feeling inside me.

"Let's focus on enjoying tonight," I suggest, steering the conversation away from the tension. "After all, it's not every day we get to dress up and attend a fancy ball."

She laughs, the sound light and genuine, and for a moment, the weight of unspoken secrets seems to lift. "You're right. Let's make the most of it." Her eyes sparkle with mischief, and I can't help but be drawn in by her spirit.

As we step into the grand ballroom, surrounded by a sea of elegance, Vanessa's presence outshines everything. The music and chatter blend into a lively symphony, setting the stage for our flirtatious exchange.

"Seeing you in that dress," I begin, my voice low and playful, "makes me think some risks are worth taking."

Her eyes meet mine, dancing with amusement. "Is that so? And what kind of risks are we talking about, Mr. Ashford?"

I lean in slightly, our conversation a private world amid the bustling ballroom. "The kind that makes a man forget his manners," I reply, a hint of daring in my tone.

She tilts her head, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "I hope you're not too much of a gentleman."

"The night is young," I quip, "and I've always found mischief to be… quite intriguing."

The corners of her lips curl up in a knowing smile. "Then perhaps you'll let me lead you into temptation."

As we find a spot near the dance floor, there's an electric current in the air. She looks up at me, her eyes locked on mine, and it's not just playful anymore; there's a depth, an invitation.

Extending my hand, I offer, "Shall we dance? Or are you worried I might be too much of a distraction?"

She places her hand in mine, stepping closer. "I think I can handle a little distraction," she says, her voice a sultry whisper.

On the dance floor, our bodies move together in rhythm, the distance between us closing. Her hand on my chest, her breath a whisper against my skin, the world around us fades.

Leaning in, I whisper, "This feels right, doesn't it? Just the two of us lost in the music."

As soon as I start to speak, she leans back quickly, her gaze fixed on my lips. At that moment, I realize—she's reading my lips.

I want to make sure, so I pull her closer, and as we start moving again, I speak directly to her ear, loud enough for even the couple beside us to hear. "You can't hear me, can you?"

She tenses and stops swaying. I look back at her as shock and vulnerability appear in her eyes.

"You're deaf, aren't you?" I inquire gently, understanding flooding through me.

Tears well in her eyes as she nods, the facade breaking.

"Nessa, I?—"

Without a word, she turns and disappears into the crowd, leaving me in the wake of that revelation.

I stand there, contemplating whether to follow her. I want to reassure her, tell her that this changes nothing about how I see her. If anything, it adds another layer to her already impressive persona. She remains that absurdly beautiful woman, poised and strong. A streak of chaos that I find myself inexplicably drawn to, tempting me to let it whirl into my structured life and shatter it.

Ethan approaches, his posture reflecting defeat. "I fucked up, man," he mutters, the weight of his words hanging between us.

"You and me both," I reply, my gaze still fixed on the spot where Nessa disappeared.

"Oh yeah? Did you confess to wanting more to a girl who just wanted to be friends, only to watch her run away?" There's a bitter edge to Ethan's voice laced with self-derision.

I throw him a sideways glance, noticing his disheartened expression. "Not ideal," I grumble in agreement.

"What's your story? How did you fuck up?" His curiosity seems to momentarily distract him from his own troubles.

"Who said I did?"

"You're all alone, aren't you?"

I shake my head slightly, a rueful smile touching my lips. "I stumbled upon a secret. One that wasn't mine to unveil."

Ethan dismisses my concern with a wave. "That's easy—just give her something on you, too, and you'll be even."

I look at him for a second, considering the idea, but then dismiss it just as fast. The only secret I can tell her is a loaded bomb, and I don't want her to look at me differently. I care too much.

I sigh. "So, what's the game plan, Mr. MVP?"

He looks down at the prize he just won as if he forgot. "Do you want to dance?" he asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

I let out a short, amused snort. "You couldn't handle me on the dance floor."

"You wish!" His retort is quick, a smile breaking through his gloom. "I'm way out of your league, mate."

I scoff. "As if I'd be caught dead dancing with a Chelsea fan!"

He rests his hand on his chest in mock offense. "How could you?!"

Our laughter cuts through the tension, and for a moment, the weight of our respective problems lifts. "But seriously, a stiff drink sounds perfect right now," I propose.

"You got yourself a deal, and maybe as we drink, we can figure a solution with our girls."

"Nessa is not my girl," I reply, but the words sound hollow even to my ears.

"Yeah, and denial is not just a river in Egypt," Ethan responds, leading the way. "Let's head to the private bar upstairs."

We make our way to the hotel's top-floor bar, a place where Ethan's age should be a barrier, but his local fame grants him an unspoken pass. I order two glasses of scotch, bringing them over to where Ethan has claimed a pair of leather chairs by a window offering a panoramic view of the town.

"She had to know," I say, placing a glass in front of him. "Your feelings for her are as plain as day."

Ethan runs a hand over his face, his exhaustion palpable. "She does. And I think she feels something too; it's just… complicated."

I let out a wry laugh, the sound tinged with weariness. "Isn't it always?" I take a long sip, feeling the warmth of the scotch as it travels down my throat. Three years, I've avoided attachments, and then she comes along, defying all logic. "Isn't it always?" I repeat, my voice heavy with unspoken thoughts.

Ethan gives me a knowing look but says nothing, respecting the silence. We sit there, lost in our thoughts, gazing out at the darkened town. And somehow, just having him there, sharing this quiet space, it helps. It's the silent understanding between us that makes the weight of the evening a little more bearable.