Page 5 of Guilty as Sin

We reach the entrance, where golden light spills onto the sidewalk, and Karl pulls open the door, holding it like an invitation. I hover briefly on the threshold, looking at the scene before me. It's every bit as opulent and impossible as I imagined, the kind of wedding that only exists in movies or society pages.

"Ready?" Rolf's voice is a low murmur, almost a dare.

I meet his gaze, and everything else falls away for an instant. There's only this, only now.

I nod, and a breathless “yes”tumbles out before I can stop.

We’re in.

CHAPTER 4

KARL

It's shockingly easy to slip into the wedding unnoticed, each of us shedding the roles we played over dinner as we become anonymous wedding crashers, enjoying the festivities as if we belong. I take Zoe’s hand, and her fingers curl around mine as I lead her to the dance floor, where the tempo matches my pulse. Rolf follows, giving us space to move together, to create our own rhythm, his watchful presence making me feel like I could push this all the way, like we’ve got nothing to lose.

Zoe’s eyes dart around at first, but the crowd's lack of attention assures her of what I already knew: no one cares if we belong. She looks at me, and there’s a trust in her gaze that I want to hold on to. Her other hand finds my shoulder, tentatively, then gripping with growing certainty.

I pull her in, my movements guiding her hesitance into fluidity, her reluctance melting into grace. Rolf is near but not encroaching, letting us lead this first number, the amused indulgence in his eyes spurring me to take Zoe deeper into our orbit.

The world narrows down to just us—the movement of our bodies and how everything around us fades to white noise. I feel the heat of Zoe's skin through my shirt, the press of her fingersas they clutch my shoulders, and the sharp intake of her breath as I spin her and bring her back into my embrace. It's a delicious game of give-and-take, push and pull, and the longer we dance, the more she gives in and the more I want.

Zoe is fully absorbed, eyes closed, her body lost to the rhythm and my lead. She is untethered from everything that held her back before. And just when I think she can't give in more than she already has, Rolf takes her from my arms in one smooth, breathtaking transition.

His timing is flawless, the shift seamless, and I feel the space he’s left beside me like a vacancy. I stand back, watching them, taking in the beauty of it all: Zoe letting him lead her, the soft catch of her laughter when he brings her impossibly close. I can tell she’s surprised by how easily she moves from one of us to the other, how her desire to let go of everything extends to this, even to both of us. Rolf’s composure balances my passion, giving Zoe the reassurance she needs to take this risk, to be this bold.

We guide her through a tango and a waltz, Rolf and I exchanging glances of victory and getting precisely what we want. Zoe matches our every step, and the sight of her, breathless and radiant between us, makes me want to skip straight to the end of this long, seductive game. But the thrill is in the chase, in the waiting, in seeing how much more she’s willing to give.

I pull her close again, feeling her heartbeat sync with mine. “Come to Paris with us,” I say, my voice so low that it’s barely above the music, but perfectly clear to her. I watch for her reaction, gauging the interest I know is there, the interest I’ve felt growing all evening.

Zoe gives a breathless laugh, but it doesn't hide the curiosity in her eyes. “I have work,” she says, as if she remembers her excuse at the last possible moment.

I spin her, holding onto her hand, not letting her get too far, not giving her room to object with any absolute certainty.

Rolf steps back in, claiming his turn. He knows this is my offer but gives it his weight. “We’d love to have you there,” he adds, and I see her hesitance waver. The wobble of her resolve and a glimpse of something uncertain yet thrilling makes this moment perfect.

We both know she’s close to saying yes and giving us the first part of what we want from her. But the evening is young, and there’s more ground to cover before she makes that leap. We won’t push, not yet.

“Drinks when we’re back?” I ask, releasing her hand just enough to make it feel like I’m giving her a choice, even though we all know what it will be.

She nods, the movement full of promise, full of a million unsaid things. “I’d like that,” she replies, the eagerness in her voice giving away what her words do not.

This is how I planned it. This is howweplanned through silent glances as soon as Zoe walked into our lives. But nothing about tonight feels predictable or inevitable, making it better than anything I could have imagined.

We pull Zoe from the dance floor, our pace impatient, as I tell Rolf I want to take her home and that I need to be alone with her tonight. My voice shakes as if it belongs to a much younger man, full of infatuation and thrill. Rolf senses my desperation, and I sense his concern. Most women aren’t interested in being shared and I know he fears my eagerness will frighten her away. And he may be right.

I watch her, knowing this is what I’ve wanted from the start, but worry it’s too soon, that I’ll ruin everything.

Rolf stands beside me, quiet and steady, moving with ease.

“I want her, Rolf,” I confess, my words clipped and sharp. “Tonight. More than just here. More than just this.”

His silence says he knows, says he’s seen my desperation before, though not quite like this, not with the same reckless pulse.

I am afraid he’ll say no, scared he’ll stop me. I know what he’ll say before he says it.

“So eager, brother?” he asks, a smirk riding the line between teasing and concern.

“She’s different.” That’s all I can say, and more than I’ve said about anyone in a long time.

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