the power of gods.

"Yeah?" Kekoa asked, pleasantly surprised. It was clear that Alice loved to dance, and was great at it, but he was kind of surprised to hear that she liked the idea of a choreographed dance at her future wedding. "Exactly that! I even want to do one with my grooms-people," Because, of course, there would be women in his party. "Like a hula dance, to tie in my Hawaiian culture... but I don't know if I'll be able to get everyone on board with it." Kekoa laughed. "My future spouse, though, I hope they're into it. Something classic, that we don't get embarrassed about when we watch the home videos." It would be well done, that was for sure.

"What about you? Thinking of a Samba? Keeping it classic or, oh, starts as a Samba but breaks out into, like, a hip hop number?" Kekoa waggled his brows playfully.

⸻ Alice lets out a soft, melodic laugh as he maps out his vision for a cultural hula performance with his wedding party. ❛ Oh, I completely agree on the group execution. ❜ She says, her dark eyes flashing with a spark of genuine creative ambition. ❛ If I am going to orchestrate a performance, I want a comprehensive choreography where everyone is compelled to participate, the bridesmaids, the groomsmen, the entire attendance. ❜ It was a blueprint she had quietly cataloged since childhood. Her older brother’s wedding had been a textbook, ultra-traditional corporate merger masquerading as a gala; Alice had always possessed a far more creative, unyielding vision for her own milestones. She smiles up at Kekoa, her shoulder lightly brushing his chest as they sway.

❛ Though, regarding your Hawaiian hula concept… Perhaps it is best scheduled for late in the reception itinerary? Specifically, after an abundance of premium open-bar liquidity has been distributed to the guests. Don’t you think? It might drastically increase your compliance metrics for the choreography. ❜ When he playfully waggles his brows and drafts a chaotic hip-hop-samba fusion for her future itinerary, Alice delivers a sharp, beautifully ironical look, though the smirk on her crimson lips betrays her amusement.

❛ Absolutely not. Classical for the main pavilion, Kekoa. ❜ She corrects him smoothly, her hips fluidly tracking his decelerated rhythm with mathematical precision. ❛ Traditional samba is entirely too complex and structurally sacred for a standard wedding entrance. I will execute the standard Brazilian protocol: We begin with a flawless, high-elegance classical number, and then, the exact moment everyone is properly wasted, we completely pivot the acoustic strategy. ❜ She tilts her chin up, leaning just a fraction closer into his space, the proximity between them growing noticeably warmer beneath the reception lights.

"oh yes, the wedding!" he cheered, he'd almost forgotten how quickly the date was approaching for that particular town event. "we wouldn't miss it for the world. though, if i am being entirely transparent with you, the mere logistics of transporting a pair of eight month olds through a formal ceremonial setting has become quite the build of strategy. bella and i have already conjured up a minute by minute contingency plan involving a rotating schedule of pacifiers, organic teething biscuits, and a tactical retreat to the parking lot the exact second leon decides to test the acoustic limits of the chapel." he leaned his massive elbows on the bartop, a secretive gleam lighting up behind his wire rimmed lenses as he tilted his head closer to hers. "but the real triumph? the dress. i’ve already taken care of it."

he paused, looking thoroughly pleased with himself, like he had unearthed a pristine relic right under the noses of his peers. "now, look at me. i am a man who considers a slightly less rumpled linen button down and coordinating tweed jacket to be the absolute pinnacle of haute couture. my fashion expertise is entirely compromised by dust and utility. but i know bella. i know that with the babies consuming every spare second of her day, she would have simply reached into the depths of her closet at the absolute last minute, pulled out a perfectly lovely but familiar slip dress she’s worn a dozen times, and called it a day because she is far too selfless to worry about herself right now." his features softened, a bottomless tenderness bleeding into his voice as his hands traced abstract shapes in the air, trying to visualize the image in his mind.

"so, I went entirely rogue and reached out to a small boutique in paris that i used to frequent for museum gala attire. i spent three hours describing her to the designer. her measurements, the way she moves, that specific, radiant gold of her hair," he trailed off momentarily with a loving sigh, suddenly feeling very much that he would like to return home soon to see her visage in person. "nothing fussy, she's not a fan of things like that. i haven't given it to her just yet. i’m waiting for tomorrow evening, the exact moment the twins are finally asleep and the house settles to surprise her with it."

he beamed, a cheeky grin crinkling the corners of his eyes as he took another sip of his ale, his mind clearly wandering to the anticipated reveal. "but what about you, alice? please tell me you aren't going to spend the entire evening running your beloved risk assessments from the comfort of your fortress. are you planning to make an appearance at the ceremony?"

⸻ Lukas’s face radiates a profound, unbothered warmth as he maps out his tactical diaper-bag contingency plans and details his romantic, rogue mission with a Parisian boutique. For a man who spends his life excavating the ancient past, his present reality is entirely consumed by the beautiful chaos of eight-month-old twins and a fierce, deeply rooted devotion to his partner. For Alice, listening to this domestic strategy is a fascinating, slightly dizzying exercise. Her own upbringing was a masterclass in rigid, high-society structure, and the mere concept of managing infants at a major social event sounds like an absolute operational nightmare. A beautifully manicured brow rises steadily as Lukas details his elaborate, minute by minute survival blueprints for the upcoming ceremony. Alice can barely comprehend the sheer, exhausting logistics of navigating a formal setting with infants. Her older brother has two children of his own, and from what she has witnessed, a pair of young niblings is already a monumental handful; she cannot begin to fathom the psychological toll of twins.

She has to bite the inside of her cheek to suppress a sharp, aristocratic smirk when he cheerfully dismantles his own sense of style. The moment he explains how he spent three hours verbally describing his partner's silhouette to a Parisian designer, Alice physically places a hand against her forehead, her corporate, hyper-efficient mind practically reeling at the absolute lack of streamlined methodology. She has seen Bella around Pinehaven a few times, an enigmatic, striking presence who carries a subtly formidable energy, but is undeniably beautiful.

❛ Lukas, you are a brilliant scholar, but your operational efficiency is deeply tragic. ❜ Alice cuts in, a thoroughly amused, teasing glint in her warm eyes as she leans her elbows on the dry wood. ❛ You could have simply shown the designer a high-resolution photograph. Better yet, wait until she is occupied, document the exact measurements on her clothing tags, and transmit the data directly to Paris. Wouldn’t that have been infinitely easier than a three-hour prose dictation? And more importantly, did you secure a proper luxury heel to match the silhouette? A dress without the correct footwear is an incomplete asset, Lukas. It is absolutely vital. ❜

As a dedicated connoisseur of high couture who approaches her personal styling with the same head-to-toe precision she applies to market trends, the omission of footwear feels like a severe structural flaw. Yet, when Lukas turns the question back onto her, asking if she plans to hide away in her new modern fortress, the playful demeanor vanishes. Her posture shifts, her fingers lightly tracing the rim of her glass as a heavy, uncharacteristic honesty settles over her features.

❛ Well… That was precisely how I was planning to budget my time. I genuinely do not know. ❜ She confesses, her voice dropping to a low, quiet register. She pauses, her dark eyes scanning the perimeter of the pub, confirming that the surrounding patrons are entirely too intoxicated or distracted by their own local gossip to pay them any mind. For the first time since her gilded banishment began, Alice lets down her armor, offering the raw, unedited truth behind the headlines.

❛ The last time I attended a wedding, the entire trajectory ended in absolute catastrophe. ❜ She reveals, looking directly into his eyes. ❛ It was a royal wedding in Europe. The groom was a high-ranking Spanish Duke, and he and I were engaged in a highly salacious affair, one that quite literally dismantled the arrangement on his actual wedding day. The resulting international tabloid frenzy completely derailed my life, caused a multi-billion-dollar sovereign wealth merger to collapse, and severely compromised my father’s investment firm. That is the exact reason I have been exiled to this rainy hovel, Nilsson. ❜

lukas practically glowed with the satisfaction of a scholar who had just successfully defended a highly controversial thesis before a room of incredibly stubborn academics. he let out a soft whistle that cut right through the low hum of the pub's background chatter, his long fingers already dancing across the glass screen of his phone to pull up the unlisted contact details before she could even think about changing her mind. "your wish is my command, senorita," he said, dropping into a clandestine murmur as he quickly tapped out the command to share the contact. then he slid his phone across the polished wood toward her one final time, tilting it at a precise angle so she could scan the encrypted numbers clearly without having to adjust her posture.

"his name is arthur pendelton. he is a remarkably dry, extraordinarily precise individual who speaks entirely in balance sheets and legal precedents. he has the emotional range of a limestone monument, which means the two of you will get along famously, i am entirely certain of it. i'll drop him a brief, casual message on my way out tonight letting him know that a highly serious, incredibly qualified buyer is about to bypass the traditional queue." he leaned back on his stool, crossing his massive arms over his chest. it was truly a fascinating thing to behold; that uncompromising focus that defined her. in a way, it reminded him a bit of the fierce, borderline obsessive determination he felt whenever he was on the cusp of unearthing an untouched tomb. she wasn't just looking for a house, she wanted to conquer a piece of geography.

"there," he said warmly, his blue eyes crinkling. "your administrative crisis, as you call it, is officially averted, and i get the immense satisfaction of knowing i’ve contributed to local architectural preservation. i call that a highly successful evening at the local watering hole." he reached down and lifted his fresh glass of ale, the dark liquid catching the dim overhead lights as he raised it a few inches in the air with a bright grin. "to permanent strongholds, impeccable paperwork, and surviving the beautiful, unpredictable beauty of this town. salute, alice."

⸻ Alice picks up her phone, her fingers moving across the glass with rapid, practiced efficiency as she saves the shared contact. She makes a critical mental note to initiate contact the exact moment she arrives back at her temporary Airbnb, considering she has a razor-thin window of forty-eight hours to finalize her structural assets before her current housing arrangement expires. ❛ Obrigada, Lukas. I truly appreciate the reference. ❜ She says, her tone carrying an uncharacteristic sincerity that cuts through her default corporate armor.

An amused, sharp smirk creeps onto her features as she lifts her own glass, the amber liquid catching the low light of the pub. She tilts it in his direction, completely matching his toast with an elegant, unwavering focus. ❛ To permanent strongholds and flawless paperwork. Cheers. ❜ She repeats smoothly, keeping her dark, warm eyes locked onto his as she takes a measured sip of her drink. Setting the glass back down with precise coordination, she leans her forearms lightly against the counter, her mind fluidly shifting from real estate acquisition back to the immediate social landscape of Pinehaven.

He tightened his hold on Alice's waist and pulled her in slightly closer. Not enough so that they were pressed together, but close enough that no one could shimmy in between them if they wanted. He slowed his movements, his hips moving in perfect rhythm to the song being played. Kick knew the song and couldn't help but sing it softly under his breath. He'd told her before that music ran through his veins, and that truth was shining loud and true tonight.

"If I ever get married," Kekoa mused, speaking aloud the thought that had just come to his head. "Me and mine are gonna have a choreographed dance for sure..." He grinned. "It's cheesy as hell but every video I've ever seen the couple just looks so damn happy..." And he wanted that, one day. Someone to dance through life with.

⸻ When he tightens his grip on her waist, drawing her into a closer, more synchronized orbit, he does so with an easy confidence that leaves no room for awkward friction. He moves fluidly, swaying to the rhythm while softly singing the lyrics under his breath a boy completely ruled by the music in his veins. For Alice, matching this shift requires a seamless blend of her natural grace and sharp coordination. Alice shakes her head, a genuinely amused smile creeping onto her crimson lips. ❛ You are incredibly funny, Kekoa. ❜ She admits, her voice carrying a rare warmth. Typically, at events of this scale, Alice prefers a swift, calculated exit. She rarely stays late unless the social capital is exceptionally high or the company is undeniably worth the expenditure of her time, both of which are rare occurrences in her world. Tonight, however, she is deliberately breaking her own operational routine. Her analytical mind is always seeking new experiences and a fresh perspective outside her rigid corporate comfort zone. She glances past his shoulder toward her table in the corner, tracking Danilo. Her massive bodyguard is executing a textbook undercover detail, casually eating a plate of reception food while keeping his gaze strictly anchored on her safety.

"People are just excited," He laughed, shrugging casually. Kick glanced around the floor, seeing how crazy and uncoordinated some of the other partygoers were being, and added, "And some of them are definitely too drunk for their own good... which means, yeah, lacking proper spatial awareness for sure." Kekoa grinned, his eyes crinkling almost fully closed. "Can't blame them, though," He went on. "I don't think I've ever been fully sober at a wedding... I think it's legally required that everyone get a little tipsy." Kekoa was just barely tipsy, like, enough to let a little loose and get a little silly, but not nearly enough to cause any issues for the bride and groom. The sloppy drunks at weddings were embarrassing.

When the song changed, and the beat slowed down, Kekoa raised a brow. "Need a break?"

⸻ Kekoa’s easygoing nature makes him a perfectly adaptable partner, Alice’s fingers anchor against his shoulders. He doesn't press her boundaries or rush the moment; instead, he stands as a steady, unbothered pivot point, giving her the space to recalibrate her equilibrium against his massive frame. But as the heavy bass line shifts, Alice makes a deliberate, highly uncharacteristic recalculation of her own. Sliding her palms lightly across the fabric of his shoulders, Alice fluidly guides one of Kekoa’s hands downward, placing it firmly against her waist while her other hand maintains its anchor on his shoulder. It is a silent, seamless protocol a rare clearance code allowing him into her immediate personal perimeter for the duration of the dance.

❛ It is a happy celebration, so of course, the local population is excited, ❜ She notes, a genuine, albeit small smile softening her sharp features as she acknowledges the matrimonial occasion. She glances past his shoulder at the surrounding chaos of the reception, watching a few over-served guests stumble heavily into one another. There is absolutely no denying that she and Kekoa possess an entirely superior baseline of coordination compared to the rest of the room ( not counting the bride and the groom, obviously, only the people within the area near them ). A subtle, highly amused expression crosses her face, her nose crinkling in a brief, silent “uhh” of aristocratic distaste as she watches a particularly sloppy drunk nearly upend a nearby table with their uncoordinated motions.

lukas shifted his weight, the stool beneath him giving a tiny, protesting creak as he followed the trajectory of her gaze to the little puddle of water on the bar. with a quick, remarkably clumsy flick of his wrist, he grabbed a clean napkin from the metal dispenser and swiped the condensation away, giving the mahogany a brief, reassuring rub before tossing the paper aside. "houseless? alice, you are a titan of industry, i think your definition of the word differs vastly from the socio economic standard," he joked, his voice carrying that familiar, unforced warmth. "but i supposed i can empathize with the profound frustration of delays. thirty six hours in an airport lounge in cairo once nearly reduced me to a state of primitive madness, so i cannot begin to fathom the psychological toll of a fluctuating timeline on your personal schedule."

when her expression shifted from aristocratic misery to intense, calculating focus, lukas practically beamed. he loved a breakthrough, whether it was a stubborn line of hieratic script or a notoriously particular friend finding a piece of real estate that didn't offend her sensibilities. "it's brilliant work, they specialize in stark, heavy timber modernism." he nodded enthusiastically, tapping the edge of the phone. "and don't worry about the encryption. if you buy the place, you can strip the wiring down to the copper and build your own digital panopticon. but to answer your question regarding the geographic insulation, it is practically a fortress." perhaps a tad too isolated for his own taste, which is why he'd passed it up despite the sound security benefits.

but he smiled gently, his eyes crinkling at the corners, as he saw her corporate mind already running the numbers and plotting the acquisition. "the broker handling the bankruptcy is a very quiet, very corporate trustee out of seattle who just wants the numbers to balance on his ledger. he doesn't care about small town gossip, and he certainly doesn't have time for the press. it's can be a completely private transaction."

⸻ Lukas’s unforced warmth and quick, albeit clumsy, attempt to neutralize the rogue puddle of condensation on the bar does not go unnoticed. Alice tracks the trajectory of his hand with a quiet, analytical eye, her controlled germophobia subtly relaxing only after the mahogany surface is thoroughly swiped clean. He jokes about her elite definition of homelessness, comparing her corporate frustration to his own primitive madness during an ancient Egyptian transit delay, but Alice remains grounded in the stark logistical reality of her current timeline. ❛ All I can say is that the entire trajectory is deeply frustrating and incredibly stressful. ❜ She admits, her voice dropping its usual armor for a fraction of a second.

As he details the property's stark modernism, the corporate trustee in Seattle, and the absolute privacy of a transaction that bypasses local gossip entirely, Alice feels completely sold. She doesn't have the luxury of time to run exhaustive micro-risk assessments or overthink the variables. The hard truth is staring at her from her ledger: if she doesn't secure a structural asset immediately, she will quite literally find herself out on the street with her extensive premium wardrobe, her personal belongings, and a security detail left completely exposed to the elements. She had never anticipated her forced exile in Pinehaven would stretch out this far past her initial projections, and her patience with temporary arrangements has officially reached zero.

I don't have that many close female friendships, and book clubs are the worst. So I just thought this could be something fun to share.

The rhythm flowed through Kekoa easily, naturally. This might even be his natural habitat, dancing without a care in the world. He wasn't someone who would police anyone who loved to dance, even if they weren't the best at it, it was an excellent way to express yourself. But he did look good. Kekoa was too lost in the music to even realize that the crowd shifted and knocked into Alice from behind, but he did open his eyes again when she spoke to him. Chuckling, he nodded and stepped in slightly closer so that she could comfortable rest her hands on his shoulders. Consent was key, he knew that, but Kick frankly didn't care if someone touched him. He was affectionate, he didn't mind a little skin to skin connection. Or, rather, shirt to skin, considering it would be frowned upon to take his shirt off at such a fancy wedding.

"You good?" He asked, glancing down at her shoes to make sure she'd regained her balance fully.

⸻ Kekoa does not seem to mind the skin-to-skin contact, nor does he harbor any of the calculation or social anxiety that dictates the rest of Alice's life. When she loses her footing, he doesn't hesitate, he steps right into her orbit, offering his massive shoulders as a stable, unbothered anchor, grounding her with an easy chuckle. But for Alice, breaching that physical distance is a complex, high-stakes negotiation with her own deeply hardwired instincts. In this specific geography, ignorance is an absolute luxury. One of the rare, redeeming qualities of a provincial thumbnail like Pinehaven is that the local population remains completely oblivious to her corporate lineage and the international media firestorm currently burning through Europe. Out here on the floor, she isn't an asset to be leveraged or a pariah to be avoided. Kekoa’s interest carries no underlying transactional motive; he is genuinely invested in her presence, not what her family's empire can provide.

Because Alice is inherently hyper-aware of boundaries, she treats personal space with a severe, clinical respect. Asking for permission wasn't a coy tactic; it was a necessary protocol to ensure she wasn't invading his parameters. The moment he gives clear, unbothered consent and steps closer, Alice reaches out, her long, manicured fingers settling firmly against his shoulders to secure her balance. Her touch is precise and deliberate. She was raised in an environment where physical affection was a heavily regulated currency, reserved only for a highly selective inner circle. Hugs, casual touch, and unprompted warmth are not part of her baseline vocabulary. Yet, anchoring herself against his chest, she forces her controlled germophobia to take a backseat to the immediate structural necessity. His warmth is entirely counterintuitive to her usual defense mechanisms, but it is undeniably solid.

"I don't even try resisting anyone, girl," Kekoa admitted easily. He was too addicted to attention to ever deny someone who wanted to give it to him. And people did want to give it to him because he was irresistible. Kick tutted his tongue, shaking his head and wagging a finger when Alice brought up a spreadsheet. "No business talk on a dance floor, Alice, that's a legitimate rule." He teased, dancing around her easily. Kekoa closed his eyes for a second, getting lost in the beat of the song that was playing. God, he hoped the people who came to the Afterglow shows felt even a fraction of the euphoria he felt whenever a good ass song was playing.

There was a certain type of dancing that was done at wedding receptions. Typically a lot of swaying, arms waving, some hip action if you were feeling fancy. Kekoa was doing all of that but elevating it. When his hips swiveled they did it fluidly. When his body rolled, it glided like a knife through softened butter. There was nothing jerky or awkward about the way he danced. It was smooth, intentional, and entirely carefree. He was aware of Alice's presence and moved with her, syncing his fluidly with hers so they were dancing together instead of just near each other. He'd already noticed that she never actually let him touch her, so he didn't even try despite the fact that he'd usually put his hands on a dance partner.

The heat of the packed dance floor had a thin layer of sweat breaking out across Kekoa's forehead, but he ignored it. Were you really dancing if you didn't sweat a little? He held out his arms to the side, avoiding placing his hands on Alice's hips as he grinded his hips close to her without making actual contact. The smile hadn't left his face for a second.

⸻ Kekoa’s natural rhythm is undeniable, she could tell. He is a creature of the beat, completely intoxicated by the music and the attention, and he moves with Alice, instinctively reading her boundaries as he keeps his hands to himself, matching her tempo without ever breaching her personal space. But Alice is not just some corporate spectator mimicking the rhythm. She possesses an innate baseline of coordination, a product of a childhood spent caught between two completely different worlds. Though her life is now defined by the rigid, clinical architecture of international finance, Alice was born in Rio de Janeiro. Before she could even articulate her first words, her body was already reacting to rhythm. Her childhood holidays in Brazil were a masterclass in organic movement; she didn't need formal training to absorb the complex, syncopated footwork of samba, the heavy, aggressive baseline of Brazilian funk, or the sensual, shifting cadences of forró. She tracks the tempo with mathematical precision, her hips moving with a sharp, hypnotic isolation that perfectly translates her high-society elegance into raw, physical grace. When she told Kekoa she loved to dance, it wasn't a casual line to fill the silence; it was an absolute fact.

As he easily boasts about never resisting a partner's attention, a perfectly manicured brow arches in genuine, amused curiosity. ❛ How so? ❜ She asks, her voice cutting through the swell of the music, a slightly confused but thoroughly entertained smile playing on her lips. When he tuts his tongue and playfully penalizes her for bringing business to the dance floor, Alice lets out a low, smoky laugh. She holds his gaze, her dark eyes flashing with that dangerous. ❛ I don’t follow rules, Kekoa. I break them. ❜ She teases back, delivering a sharp, playful wink as she fluidly drop-steps to match his next movement. For a split second, the word wedding sends a cold, heavy ripple through her chest. The last ceremony she attended, the Duke's ruined wedding, had resulted in her absolute exile. She glances past Kekoa’s shoulder, confirming that her bodyguard is still seamlessly executing his perimeter watch under the guise of an elite plus-one, before forcefully locking the memory away. Tonight is about burning off volatile energy.