Page 77 of My Bloody Valentine

“Since we were kids,” Gabe confirms, swirling his wine. “Grew up three houses apart. Got into plenty of trouble together.”

“The kind of trouble that shapes who you become,” Adrian adds quietly.

I feel the weight of secrets in the room, pressing against us like a physical force. The jazz above our heads shifts to a slower, more sensual melody. Amelia’s cheeks are flushed from the wine or Gabe’s proximity—perhaps both.

I sip my wine and watch Amelia over the rim of my glass. Her gaze keeps dropping to Gabe’s hands as he gestures while talking about wine.

“The ’82 pairs perfectly with dark chocolate,” Adrian says, swirling his glass. “The tannins complement the bitter notes.”

“True, but I prefer the ’86 with your truffles,” Gabe replies, reaching for the bottle. His forearms flex as he pours more wine, and I notice Amelia’s eyes tracking the movement, lingering on his waist before darting away.

“The ’86 is too fruit-forward,” Adrian argues. “It overwhelms the subtle flavors.”

Gabe leans back in his chair, hooking his thumbs in his belt loops. Amelia adjusts her position in the chair, eyes roaming over Gabe’s chest as his shirt pulls across it.

“You’re just being a snob,” Gabe chuckles. “The ’86 has complexity you’re missing.”

I hide my smile as Amelia bites her lip, her attention fixed on Gabe’s hands as he demonstrates how to decant an older vintage. Her cheeks flush when he catches her looking, but he just winks and continues his debate with Adrian.

“Here, let me show you the difference.” Gabe stands and moves to fetch another bottle. His movements are fluid and graceful. Amelia’s gaze follows the line of his back, dropping lower before she quickly looks away.

I remember that feeling—the dangerous attraction, the guilty pleasure of looking when you think no one notices. Watching Amelia’s careful glances reminds me of my early encounters with Adrian before I knew what lay beneath his polished surface.

I lean closer to Adrian, keeping my voice low. “Tell me more about that ’82 vintage.”

He catches my meaning, angling his body to give Gabe and Amelia the illusion of privacy. His fingers trace patterns on my palm as he launches into a detailed analysis of wine regions.

Across the table, Gabe shifts his chair closer to Amelia. “Your brushwork in that last piece was stunning. The way you captured movement...”

“You noticed that?” Amelia tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, her other hand resting near Gabe’s on the table.

“Hard not to. Your technique is...” His fingers brush against hers as he reaches for his glass. “Captivating.”

Adrian squeezes my hand, continuing his wine monologue. At the same time, we both pretend not to notice the electricity crackling between our friends.

“I could show you my studio sometime,” Amelia says, breathless. “If you’re interested.”

“Very interested.” Gabe’s voice drops lower, rougher. He leans in. “Though I suspect your talents extend beyond just painting.”

I feel the heat rise in my cheeks as Amelia’s breath catches. Adrian’s thumb traces my wrist as he seamlessly discusses soil composition.

“The studio has excellent lighting,” Amelia manages, her fingers now definitely tangled with Gabe’s. “Perfect for studying details.”

“I’ve always appreciated...” Gabe pauses, his free hand moving to brush Amelia’s shoulder. “Fine details.”

Adrian raises his voice slightly, returning my attention to his wine lecture. But I catch Amelia’s shiver as Gabe’s fingers trail down her arm, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Perhaps we should continue this discussion somewhere more private,” Gabe suggests, his voice barely above a whisper.

I tense as one of Gabe’s waiters hurries down the cellar steps, his face tight with worry.

“Mr. Dawson, there’s a health inspector upstairs. Says he needs to do an immediate inspection.”

My stomach drops. I know what lies beneath the stage floor—the mummified remains of Gabe’s victims, carefully preserved and hidden. Adrian told me about them during one of our intimate confessions.

Gabe’s expression doesn’t change, but his fingers tighten slightly on his wine glass. “At this hour? That’s unusual.”

“He’s quite insistent, sir. Says there was a complaint.”

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