Page 55 of Falling for the Wrong Billionaire
The room glows with soft golden light, fairy lights strung from the beams above and candles flickering in glass holders on every table. There’s a quiet hum of laughter and conversation, the clinking of glasses, the subtle strains of live music weaving through it all.
It’s perfect.
But nothing — nothing — compares to having her here on my arm.
I guide her through the room, greeting familiar faces, feeling a little thrill every time someone’s eyes catch on us — on her — and light up in recognition.
“Liam!” someone calls, and I turn to see Mayor Patterson approaching, his broad smile warm as he extends a hand.
“Mayor,” I greet, shaking his hand firmly.
He glances at Lucy then, his smile softening. “And who’s this lovely young lady?”
I glance at her and feel a surge of pride in my chest as I say, “This is Lucy Whittier. My date tonight.”
Her cheeks flush beautifully at that, and she gives a little nod, murmuring a polite hello.
We move on, weaving through clusters of townspeople, some of my business associates, and a few out-of-town guests. I make a point to introduce her to everyone who matters to me — letting them see her, letting them know she’s someone important.
She keeps her composure through it all, her quiet grace shining through even when she’s clearly nervous. She’s polite, warm, even offering shy little smiles when someone makes a joke.
But then —
We stop at one small group, and as I shake the hand of Mr. Fernandez — one of my longtime business contacts — I notice something strange.
His eyes land on Lucy, and for a brief moment, his brow furrows.
“You look familiar,” he says slowly, tilting his head. “Have we met before?”
Lucy freezes beside me, her body going rigid.
But then he shakes his head, giving a little laugh. “Ah, never mind. Must be mistaken. My apologies.”
I don’t think much of it. People see faces they think they know all the time.
But when I glance at her, her smile looks just a little too forced.
I don’t like that.
I slide an arm around her waist, leaning in close and murmuring, “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
She blinks up at me, startled. “But… we—”
I shake my head. “Dance floor.”
Her lips part in surprise, but I don’t wait for her to argue. I lead her through the crowd, my hand warm and firm at the small of her back, until we reach the wooden floor at the center of the room.
The music slows, the soft melody filling the air, and I turn to her, holding out my hand.
She hesitates for just a second, then slides her hand into mine.
As we sway to the music, her other hand resting lightly on my shoulder, I feel something in me settle.
For the first time in years, I feel completely… present.
There’s no work waiting for me in the morning. No meetings to prepare for. No past mistakes clouding my mind. Just her.
Her quiet smile. The warmth of her hand in mine.
