Chapter Thirty-Two

Stephanie

Here in Dinar, a country that neighbors Ysaria, the energy backstage is electric after Labyrinth’s performance tonight. As we make our way out of the arena, fans scream Alfie’s name, hands outstretched, hoping for a touch as the security team forces back the crush. My heart pounds, nerves on edge in the chaos.

I’d been transported while the group played. Now that they’re performing together, not just over video chat, they get better every day. But it’s not the group who entranced me. It was Alfie.

His huge body juxtaposed against the picture of his dexterous, flying fingers is mesmerizing to watch. Often when he plays, he gets a faraway look in his eyes as though the music is pouring into him from somewhere else. There was a moment during “The Talurine Sea” that was so poignant I got tears in my eyes. Maybe it was the music, maybe it was the memories we created with that ethereal tune playing in the background.

Emma approaches, Kam’s thick, green arm wrapped protectively around her pregnant waist as they fight the crowd.

“Quite the ladies’ man, your boss.” Her expression is sharp, lips pursed.

I follow her gaze to where Alfie walks just ahead of us, flanked by members of his burly security team. A few brazen women have slipped past them and are all but attacking him, hands roaming his muscular arms as they smile invitingly. One particularly bold fan grabs his biceps and jumps, attempting to plant a kiss on his furry cheek.

My breath catches as irritation flares hot and swift in my chest. But Alfie gently pries her fingers loose and guides her back with a shake of his horned head, his expression shuttered. As we pass, I catch a glimpse of sadness in his tawny eyes before he looks away.

Emma nudges me knowingly, but I ignore her, scowling. Just because he’s rebuffing a few fangirls doesn’t change what I know about his past. Still, I can’t deny the tiny flame of satisfaction burning inside me at his apparent disinterest in the groupie.

Finally, we spill out of a secured exit into the muggy night. Our convoy of vehicles is waiting to whisk us back to the hotel. As I climb inside the black SUV, the sight of Alfie settling into the front passenger seat stirs a confusing mixture of emotions. Irritation still simmers, but longing threatens to override it.

At the hotel, I escape to my room for blessed solitude. Under the hot spray of the shower, tensions from the long day ebb slowly. Toweling dry, I replay Alfie’s earlier interactions with fans. It wasn’t just the woman who grabbed his tee and leaped for a kiss. There were dozens of women, thronging him, calling his name, tossing lacy panties. He seemed completely uninterested.

Could he have changed?

A knock interrupts my musings. I cinch my terry robe around me and open the door to Alfie, muscles bunching beneath his snug t-shirt. My mouth goes dry at the sight of him.

“Can we review tomorrow’s schedule?” he asks. Even though we’ve been all business since I fled his house the other day, his cool demeanor stabs my heart.

With a resigned sigh, I step back to let him in. Busying myself gathering paperwork, I’m hyperaware of his masculine presence behind me. My nerves prickle, and my pulse quickens traitorously.

Get it together! This is business.

I turn with an armful of documents as Alfie settles on the little loveseat near the window. For the swiftest moment, I consider sitting next to him. Blood rushes hotly to my cheeks—and lower, pulsing between my legs before I know what hit me. Have I lost my mind considering sitting dangerously close to him when there’s a perfectly good chair three feet away?

Setting my jaw, I drag the chair over and organize my paperwork with crisp efficiency. If Alfie is disappointed with my seating choice, it doesn’t show behind his impassive expression. We discuss logistics, but the room feels charged, emotions simmering beneath the surface.

When we’ve reviewed all the details, I gather my documents and stand. “Well, I think that covers everything.”

Alfie unfolds from the loveseat reluctantly. Including horns, he’s over seven feet tall and dominates the small space. We maneuver awkwardly around each other as he edges toward the door. His spicy masculine scent teases my senses, and something hot and needy clenches low inside me. I grit my teeth against it.

Pausing in the open doorway, Alfie searches my face as if struggling to speak. His mouth firms into a resigned line. “Have a good night, Stephanie,” he murmurs, eyes dark with unnamed emotions.

Pulse racing, I close the door firmly on his retreating form, then settle my back against the door as I rake my hands through my hair and expel a shaky breath.

Forcing myself to breathe deeply, I slowly and methodically perform a life review. Well, not my entire life. I go back to the moment I walked through his front door the day we met and watch little snippets of our time together until he just reluctantly walked out of my hotel room.

He was a shit that first day, arriving late, undressed, and unprepared for our interview. And Ashley? Well, that was a fiasco that I’ve revisited a thousand times already.

But what about his behavior since that day? Has he been anything other than unfailingly kind and concerned? From his unflagging attention, to his little presents, to his attention to my comfort, like always having my favorite soda and creamer on hand.

Even the way he’s handled this breakup is admirable. I asked him not to look at me, not to talk to me, and he’s followed those instructions to the best of his ability. He could have been pursuing me, texting me, trying to convince me, but he’s complied with my wishes. Isn’t that a tell?

And what about all those women throwing their panties at him? I was standing close enough to see he paid only enough attention to dodge them. Is it possible he’s changed from his playboy ways?

Maybe I should talk to him. Give him another chance.