Chapter 41

Chiara

This is supposed to be a celebration of my success with Vedant, but I can’t feel any of it. Throughout the night, I am numb, playing back what Alice said over and over. Thinking of Vedant and the decision he made.

It eclipses all the joy around me. No matter how many people approach to congratulate me, I find that my smile is more from muscle memory. And all the while, I strain to see Vedant out of the corner of my eye.

But its nice to be around Matthew. He always seems to be nearby and alleviates some of the pain that prickles me at random. With him, my laughs come easily, and occasionally, I even feel that my smile is genuine.

If only it could make me forget.

Eventually, Matthew suggests that we steal away for a drink. I’ve hardly ever drank in my life, but this is a celebration in my honor, isn’t it? And Matthew has already put me at ease in a way that I desperately needed.

I let him lead me to the ballroom bar. Overhead is a sparkling chandelier that I crane my head back to admire as he orders. Then, he returns with two champagne flutes.

“Cheers to the victor,” he says, clinking his glass to mine.

The first sip is delicious and bubbly. It unwinds me. I swallow deeply and Matthew smiles at the indulgence.

“I’m sorry about the room situation,” he says after a moment. “It’s not fair to you.”

“No, it isn’t,” I agree. “But tonight I’m celebrating my win, not what I lost.”

“In that case, Ill get you another glass.” His smile is all teeth.

When he returns, I’ve already drank the contents of the first flute, and I’m feeling warm all over. Still, even as I start to work on my second glass, I have to ignore the pull of my attention to Vedant across the room. Everywhere he goes, every movement he makes, I’m aware of it.

Even as I try to indulge in my conversation with Matthew, my focus is across the room with a different man.

But something tells me that the same is true for Vedant, because when Matthew cracks a joke that has me bent double and gripping his arm, suddenly Vedant is right beside me.

He’s like a shadow looming down at us, scowling. I’m suddenly very aware of the casual hand I laid on Matthew’s arm in our laughter. Matthew seems to be too.

“What is it, Vedant?” he asks. “Care to join us? We were just having a laugh about your new roommate Alice.”

Vedant’s face briefly twists with confusion. “Are you both drunk?”

Matthew lifts his flute in a mocking toast. “Getting there. Give us a few more minutes.”

I giggle, and Vedant’s frown deepens. “Chiara, I need to talk to you.”

I ignore the way my heart stutters. “Right now?”

“Yes.” The word is sharp, leaving no room for misinterpretation.

I sigh and put down my half-drained glass. I turn to Matthew. “I’ll be back in a second.”

But Vedant is already striding to the elevator so quickly that I nearly lose him in the crowd. I hurry to catch up.

I’m surprised when he leads me to our room—or what used to be our room. I can’t help but scoff.

“Oh, now you want me here,” I say as we enter.

He flicks on a light, then pauses. His brows shoot up, caught off guard. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t look at me like that,” I snap, swaying slightly. “You shoved me out earlier, remember? You wanted Alice instead.” My voice cracks, the hurt spilling through. “You probably think I’m just like everyone says I am. That I’m just a stupid orphaned slut, right?”

“Chiara, no,” he says sharply, stepping closer. His voice softens. “I’m not sure what Alice told you, but it sounds like she lied. I didn’t ask her to switch rooms. I told her no when she asked, actually.”

I blink, trying to piece his words together through the fog of the drinks in my system. It feels like all of the champagne Matthew had gotten me is hitting me at once.

“She is horrible,” I admit. “I’ve never known anyone else to be so cruel.”

“She is brutal,” he agrees, raking a hand through his hair. “And yet my father wants her to be my Luna.”

I straighten, heart pounding so loud I hear it above my next words. “I see.”

“He keeps claiming to be my perfect match but…. I don’t know.”

I take a small step closer so I can really see his face. The warm color of his eyes. The rosy flush of his cheeks from drinking.

“You don’t want her?” I ask. I can’t help it, and in my numbed state, I don’t even care that it sounds desperate. I need to know for sure.

“I don’t think of her that way,” he continues, eyes burning with sincerity. “I have no interest in Alice like that.”

There is a long pause. I feel it stretch out between us. And the question bursts out of me, rising to the surface like those bubbles in my champagne flute.

“And me?”

I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. “I’ve… I’ve tried to never thought of you that way.”

“Tried,” I repeated.

“Sometimes I’m successful. Other times… I’m not,” he admits. “You drive me insane. You confuse me. But I respect you.”

The words hit harder than I expect, loosening something tight inside me.

“I hate you sometimes,” I whisper, but it sounds more like a plea.

“I know,” he says quietly. “I wish I could hate you all the time but I’m starting to realize that might not be possible.”

He looks so good in the dim light of our room. I don’t think. I step forward, closing the distance between us.

And then I kiss him.

I feel it in every corner of me, this jolting, electric awareness that zaps me like lightning. For a heartbeat, he kisses me back. His fingers are curling at my waist, breath catching against mine. I can feel his want mirroring my own.

As I begin to deepen the kiss, I think maybe the world is finally tilting in my favor. I feel him react to it, indulging in it all as well.

But then he pulls away, so suddenly that it leaves me staggering and him breathing hard. I blink at him in confusion, my lips swollen, the taste of him still on my tongue.

“Chiara,” he murmurs, his voice strained. “You’ve been drinking. This isn’t the time.”

The rejection stings worse than if he’d outright slapped me. He takes a step back, running a hand through his hair. I’m left paralyzed by the speed of everything that has just happened.

“You should get some rest,” he says softly. “Sleep it off. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

He leaves me standing in the doorway, heart hammering, lips still tingling with the ghost of a kiss. I watch him go, too stunned to speak. I can barely even force myself to breathe.

And a large part of me wants to cry as he shuts the door between us because, for one brief, stolen second, it felt like everything I’d ever wanted.