As Nora passes, her perfume—vanilla and something darker, something that reminds me of midnight promises—wraps around me like a noose. Her lips curve in that knowing smile that's haunted my dreams for years.

The car ride is exquisite torture. Not because of Camilla's chatter, but because Nora's bare thigh catches my eye with every streetlight we pass. The emerald silk flows like water over curves I shouldn't memorize. She stares out the window, either unaware or too aware of how she's unraveling me thread by careful thread.

At the country club, Camilla vanishes in search of Marcus, leaving us alone under lights that paint Nora in gold and shadow. The gala's music pulses behind us like a heartbeat.

I catch her wrist, pulling her close enough to count her eyelashes, close enough to feel the hitch in her breath. She stumbles slightly, steadying herself against my chest, and suddenly breathing becomes optional. Her eyes catch the light like diamonds, turning my thoughts to static.

"You're…" The word dies in my throat, inadequate.

She tilts her head, lips curving into that devastating smirk that's both invitation and challenge.

"Do I make you nervous, Nate?" The words drip like honey, sweet and dangerous.

My laugh comes out strangled.

"Speechless," I confess, letting my gaze trace her like an artist memorizing his masterpiece. "You make me speechless. You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

"Liar," she whispers, trying to turn away, but my hand slides from her wrist to her waist, claiming this space between heartbeats as ours.

"I wouldn't lie to you. Not about this. Not about anything."

Then I'm kissing her, soft but deep. Her lips part beneath mine with a surrender that makes my heart stutter—she's been waiting for this, too. When she presses closer, fingers clutching my jacket like a lifeline, I groan into her mouth, losing myself in the taste of her. I pull back only when breathing becomes necessary, taking in her flushed cheeks and swollen lips with a satisfaction that burns through my veins.

"Tell me, Nate," she breathes, voice teasing but eyes ablaze, "how are you going to stop yourself from doing that tonight?"

I meet her gaze, letting her see the raw truth of what she does to me. "Who says I'm going to stop?"

A blush paints her cheeks, and when a strand of hair falls across her face, I brush it back, my fingers lingering on her skin. I take her hand, pressing a deliberate kiss to her knuckles.

"I don't want to hide anymore." Her eyes search mine, waiting, so I continue, words spilling out like a confession, "I want everyone to know you're mine, Nora. The future, the distance—we'll figure it out. I'll do whatever it takes. I just need this to be real."

"Nate," she whispers, "this has always been real."