HEY, IT'S CASS!

For one wild second, she considered turning around and pretending she never saw him.

But he glanced up, caught her staring, and she did the only thing she could think of. She smiled—way too wide—and waved.

His eyes widened. And she knew recognition hit him like a brick.

And just like that, Raven realized:

This night is going to be a complete disaster.

Her heels clicked traitorously loud against the asphalt as she crossed the parking lot, every step feeling like it echoed he knows, he knows, he knows.

Okay, just smile. Be normal. You’ve been normal before. Probably. Once.

She tried to ignore the fact that Damian was watching her approach now—straightening up even further, stuffing his phone into his pocket, and standing awkwardly like he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to wave or hug her or just spontaneously combust.

Honestly? Same.

He’s still cute. Why is he still cute? That should be illegal.

And taller. Was he always this tall? Was I just shorter?

Focus, Raven.

She reached him and gave what she hoped was a breezy, natural smile, even though her heart was hammering loud enough she was pretty sure the whole damn parking lot could hear it.

"Hey," she said, forcing her voice to stay light. "You must be Damian."

She knew full well who he was.

Why didn’t she put two and two together? Her roommate had told her his name was Damian—and it wasn’t like she knew many Damians in the wild. Maybe it was because she was strapped for cash, or maybe that she secretly hoped it was this Damian—

No. Then why did the realization hit her like a truck?

Judging by the way his mouth opened, then closed again like a fish, he was just starting to figure it out too.

"Yeah," he said finally. "And... you're..."

He trailed off, staring at her like his brain had blue-screened.

God, why was this already a disaster?

Abort mission. Fake a sprained ankle. Claim amnesia.

Something.

Instead, Raven laughed—nervous and breathy—and stuck out her hand like they were meeting at a corporate retreat and not about to lie to a hundred strangers about being soulmates.

"I'm your fake date," she said, because someone had to keep this train from derailing completely. “Raven.”

"Nice to meet you."

I already know how infuriatingly incredible you smell, and how irritating you were in our Chemistry class, but yeah, sure…

“Nice to meet you, too.”

He cleared his throat, tore his eyes away, then held out his arm, and said, “shall we?”

Raven tucked her hand into the crook of Damian’s arm—because fake couple, appear natural, don’t be weird—and immediately regretted it when she realized just how solid he was under the jacket.

Oh, great. Perfect. Let’s make this harder, why don’t we?

They started walking toward the big stone building where fairy lights twined around the railings and the faint sound of music drifted out.

Damian leaned in slightly, voice low and fast. "Okay, so….quick crash course."

Raven nodded, hyper-aware of how close his mouth was to her ear. Focus. Focus.

"The groom is my brother—Richard. And the bride-to-be is Kori." He took a quick glance at her, as if gauging her reaction. "You'll be able to tell who they are just by looking at them."

White dress. Probably another insanely attractive man. Because I'm not stupid.

"My grandmother is the short one with the purple dress," he said. "She’ll cry when she sees us. Just go with it."

"Got it," Raven said, hoping she sounded more normal than she felt.

"Then there’s my dad—he’ll probably tell you a bunch of embarrassing stories about me. Ignore half of them.” He closed his eyes momentarily as his lips pressed into a thin line. “No, actually, ignore all of them."

Raven smiled, trying to mentally file that away, but her brain was already spinning uselessly because he smells so damn good.

Clean and warm and some kind of stupid cologne that made her want to lean in like an actual crazy person.

"And—uh—my aunt Samantha." Damian grimaced. "If she corners you, fake a bathroom emergency. She will ask about our future children. Plural."

Raven bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

Children.

Right.

Future.

Focus, Raven.

"Cool, cool," she said, voice a little too high. "Bathroom emergencies. Future kids. Crying grandmother. Totally normal day."

He gave her a quick, sideways glance—the corner of his mouth twitching like he was fighting a smile—and damn it, why was that cute too?

They were almost at the steps now. Voices and laughter were getting louder. A big, happy, chaotic mess waiting to happen.

"Last thing," Damian said, hesitating just before they reached the door. "If anyone asks how we met…say coffee shop."

"Coffee shop. Classic." She gave him a thumbs-up, even though her heart was hammering like a jackrabbit.

He opened the door, holding it for her, and as she stepped inside into a whirl of music, flowers, and chattering strangers, Raven thought:

This is fine. Totally fine.

I am not going to lose my mind fake-dating my college crush at a family wedding.

Nope. Not at all.

The moment they crossed the threshold, it was like stepping into a hurricane. Warmth, chatter, the clink of glasses—and then a woman in a purple dress sprinted toward them with the speed of a much younger person.

"There she is!" the woman cried, flinging her arms wide. "Damian’s girlfriend!"

Raven barely had time to brace herself before she was engulfed in a perfumed, crushing hug.

"Uh—hi!" Raven squeaked, awkwardly patting the woman’s back.

Over the woman’s shoulder, she caught Damian’s face—a tight, panicked little smile that said ‘sorry, you're on your own.’

Fucking coward.

"My baby!" the woman sniffled, pulling back to dab her eyes dramatically. "We thought he'd be alone forever! You are absolutely gorgeous! Are you staying for the whole weekend? You have to stay!"

"Uh—yes—maybe—we’ll see?" Raven said, voice wobbling dangerously. Weekend? The venue was only an hour and a half out of the main city she lived in, did they have a hotel close by?

…Did Damian have a room of his own?

No, Raven. Don’t go there. Focus, goddamnit.

The woman—grandmother, Raven remembered in a flash of terror—grabbed Damian’s hand and their hands together and squeezed, beaming at them like they’d personally cured all her ailments.

Behind her, a whole platoon of relatives was gathering.

Aunts, uncles, cousins—god, so many fucking cousins.

Raven’s stomach dropped to somewhere around her ankles.

Someone was already snapping pictures.

Someone else shouted, "How did you two meet?"

"Coffee shop!" Raven blurted at the exact same time Damian said, "Bookstore!"

A tiny, horrible silence.

Raven felt her soul leave her body.

She shot Damian a glare that obviously read: are you fucking kidding me?!

Thankfully, Damian recovered fast, laughing with a sheepish shrug. "Coffee shop inside a bookstore," he amended. "You know, like those cute ones where you pretend to read but you’re really just people-watching." She hated how effortless his recovery was, and how damned adorable that laugh was.

Focus.

"Ohhhhhh," the grandmother cooed, clutching her chest like they’d just acted out the final scene of a rom-com, which, to her credit, is exactly what it felt like.

Raven laughed, too—too loud, too fake—while mentally screaming.

This is fine. This is fine. I’m not dying inside. I’m not about to faint. Everything. Is. Fine.

Damian’s hand brushed hers, grounding, steady, and she realized he was squeezing gently, like he knew she was two seconds from a full systems shutdown.

She risked a glance up at him.

He was watching her with something almost...soft in his expression.

Oh, no, she thought, as her heart gave a traitorous little skip. I’m so fucking fucked.

Before Raven could even blink, Damian’s grandmother was propelling them across the room toward a small, glittering stage where the soon-to-be newlyweds were surrounded by a mob of admirers.

"Come on, you have to meet Richard!" she said over her shoulder, practically dragging them by sheer willpower.

Raven clutched Damian’s hand like a lifeline—partly for appearances, partly because her legs suddenly felt like they’d been swapped out for uncooked spaghetti.

Up close, Richard looked like he belonged in a magazine catalog—neat hair, crisp tuxedo, easy grin. He spotted Damian immediately and grinned wider, his teeth flashing in a jaw-dropping way that made Raven realize why Damian’s smile had the same effect.

Fucking incredible genetics.

"Damian, you made it!" Richard pulled him into a quick, back-pounding hug. Then his eyes shifted to Raven—and sharpened.

"And you are?" Richard asked, eyebrows lifting just enough to be dangerous.

Raven opened her mouth—but Damian beat her to it, slinging an arm around her shoulders with a casualness that might have fooled everyone else, but she could feel the tension humming under his skin.

"This is Raven," Damian said, casually. "My girlfriend."

Richard’s grin turned downright devilish. "Girlfriend, huh?" He turned back to Damian. "Funny, you never mentioned having a girlfriend."

Raven laughed—a little too high-pitched—and waved awkwardly. "I’m a, uh...recent development."

"Very recent," Damian added quickly. Too quickly.

Richard’s fiancée, a stunning red-headed woman in a shimmering dress, gave a delighted little clap. "Oh, I love that! A whirlwind romance!"

"Exactly," Raven said, nodding so hard she nearly gave herself whiplash. "So whirlwind. There were...brooms involved."

Damian choked on a laugh next to her, coughing into his hand.

Richard just raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it, but mercifully—thankfully—decided to let it go.

"For what it's worth," Richard said, clapping Damian’s shoulder with mock gravity, "you definitely traded up, man. Way out of your league."

Raven blushed furiously, half from the compliment, half from the way Damian’s hand squeezed her shoulder a little tighter, like he agreed.

Sure, sure. Not like he’s a solid 11/10.

"Yeah," Damian said, voice weirdly soft. "I know."

Raven’s heart stuttered.

Focus, Raven. Focus. Stop falling for him again at a wedding in front of all his relatives. Jesus.

"Now," Richard’s fiancée announced, turning and practically clapping her hands, "we're about to kick off the first dance…and after that, we’re opening the floor!"

She beamed at them. "You two better be the first ones out there after us!"

Raven laughed weakly, praying for an earthquake, a sudden power outage, a freak lightning strike—literally anything to get her out of this.

But the music was already starting.

Raven stood with Damian just off to the side as the music changed, a soft, slow swell of something orchestral and sweet.

The crowd shifted—people making space, murmuring in excitement—as Richard and his fiancée moved onto the center of the dance floor.

Raven clasped her hands together tightly in front of her, feeling a thousand different things at once: relief that she wasn’t immediately being forced to dance, panic that it was coming soon, and an overwhelming, ridiculous fluttering in her chest from simply being next to Damian.

The bride and groom swayed together, laughing at something private, faces close, the rest of the room disappearing around them.

It was...stupidly beautiful.

Raven bit her lip, feeling that weird, achey warmth settle in her ribs.

Next to her, Damian shifted his weight awkwardly, and she could feel his discomfort radiating off him.

Still, when she glanced up at him, he was watching Richard and his fiancée with a strange, unreadable look on his face.

Soft. Almost...wistful.

Raven's chest tightened painfully.

God, he smells so good.

God, he looks so good.

God, I'm so fucked.

She looked away quickly, pretending to smooth the skirt of her dress, trying to shove the stupid, growing feeling down where it belonged: not here, not now.

The song played on, low and tender. A few other couples—the brave ones—were joining in around the edges, but no one dared intrude too closely.

When Raven risked another glance at Damian, he caught her looking.

Their eyes locked.

For half a second, it was like they were the only two people in the whole building. No fake dating. No families. No paycheck waiting at the end of the night.

Just...them. Standing too close. Breathing the same air.

Then Richard’s fiancée gave a little whoop and shouted, "Everyone, join us!"

The spell broke.

The crowd laughed and clapped, and suddenly Damian, bless his soul, was offering her his hand with the slightly crooked, lopsided smile that had made her an idiot back in college—and apparently still had the same effect now.

"Guess that’s our cue," he said.

Raven swallowed hard and took his hand.

I’m doomed, she thought.

I’m absolutely, one hundred percent doomed.

"You ready to make a fool of me?" he said, voice low enough only she could hear.

Raven let out a shaky breath and put her hand in his. Her fingers trembled a little against his palm. She hoped he didn’t notice.

"Always," she said, because it was easier to joke than admit her heart was about to punch its way out of her chest.

Raven let Damian lead her onto the dance floor, weaving through clusters of laughing couples. Her heart hammered so hard she could practically hear it above the soft tune of the ballad.

She tried to focus on the basics: left foot, right foot, don't trip, don't humiliate yourself—but then Damian’s hands found her waist, gentle and solid, and her brain promptly short-circuited.

He was warm. Steady. His touch was careful, almost hesitant, like he was terrified of holding her wrong.

Raven rested her hands on his shoulders—tried to, anyway.

Somewhere in the process, her fingers brushed the back of his neck, and Damian shivered.

Actually shivered.

Oh.

Oh no.

That’s bad.

…Or good?

They started swaying to the slow beat, small steps at first, neither of them really talking, both way too focused on pretending to be normal.

Raven stole a glance up at him.

He wasn’t looking at her—not directly—but his jaw was tight, and his brow was furrowed like he was working through some complicated math problem.

Probably the same one she was: how do you dance with someone you’re supposed to be faking it with when it feels...well…

The music wrapped around them, soft and sweet, and little by little, the space between them shrank.

Not enough for the relatives watching from the sidelines to comment.

But enough that Raven could feel the heat of Damian's chest against hers, the whisper of his breath near her temple.

Enough to make her dizzy.

He smells so fucking good, she thought miserably.

He’s so fucking close.

I’m going to do something so incredibly fucking stupid.

She cleared her throat—desperate to say something, anything—but when she opened her mouth, what came out was:

"You’re a better dancer than I thought you’d be."

Damian’s mouth twitched. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

"Take it or leave it," she said, forcing a grin.

He laughed quietly—the sound low and a little rough, like he wasn’t used to doing it—and her heart flipped over in her chest.

"I’ll take it," he said. His voice was different now. Softer. Warmer.

Their eyes met again, and this time neither of them looked away.

The music slowed further, the world narrowing until it was just the two of them. Hands tightening slightly. Breaths catching.

For a heartbeat—one, two, fuck, maybe three—it felt like he was about to lean in. Like maybe, just maybe, he wanted to kiss her.

Raven's heart soared and stuttered all at once. And then—

Damian’s eyes shifted beside her as his lips twitched into what could be described as a pained smile. “Richard is staring,” he whispered, leaning in closer so that his words were almost pressed into her ears. Almost. “Correction: my whole family is staring.”

His arms tightened around her waist as he began to trail one hand softly up her bare back, causing her nerves to explode with a sudden surge of electricity—of course I picked this backless dress, out of all dresses, out of all days.

Raven let out a forced giggle, helplessly trying to thwart the thought of how small and fragile and…safe she felt in his arms. “I mean…that’s good, right?”

He made a considering noise before flatly stating, “run your hands through my hair.”

Raven gawked, trying to mask her surprise and humiliation as if he hadn’t suggested she do something that could literally burn her from the inside out. “Excuse me?” she squealed into the safety of his neck.

He pulled away slightly, just enough that he could meet her gaze. The sparkling string lights above reflected in his eyes and she miserably recalled why she'd deliberately avoided making direct eye contact with him throughout college. Because he had these stunning emerald green eyes with flecks of gold that seemed to capture and magnify every speck of light in the room, transforming them into tiny constellations that threatened to pull her into their orbit. Because he had this sexy scar bisecting his left eyebrow, a thin silver line that told stories of some long-ago recklessness that only made him more intriguing. Because he had these lips that looked. So. Damn. Kissable. Full and slightly curved at the corners, as if perpetually on the verge of a knowing smirk that said he could read every forming inappropriate thought crossing her mind.

His voice dropped even lower, even gruffer—even sexier. “Trust me.”

She might have whimpered at his voice, his suggestion, the way he was looking at her—fuck, at this point she didn’t know, didn’t care—but regardless, she obeyed, lifting one hand to his temple. She cautiously ran her fingers through his hair, brushing a curl away from his ridiculously handsome face. His hair felt exactly as soft as she'd imagined, like satin beneath her touch, and she couldn't resist admiring how it shimmered in the gentle lighting.

His eyes fluttered closed and, maybe he groaned, maybe she was imagining it, but damn, if that wasn’t the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.

This was a dangerous game.

I’m so so so fucked.

Someone nearby wolf-whistled.

"Get a room!" someone else hollered.

They broke apart instantly, both laughing a little too loudly, stepping back like they’d been caught doing something illegal.

Raven’s face burned hot enough to start fires.

Damian raked a hand through his hair, looking everywhere but at her.

"We’re doing great," he muttered under his breath. "Really selling it." He cleared his throat. “That was great.”

She wasn’t sure if it was the nerves, the music, or the way Damian kept sneaking glances at her like he didn’t want to stop touching her, but right then, in the middle of the dance floor, she realized something terrifying:

What if I'm not faking it?

As if answering her silent prayer, the music faded out, replaced by the soft clink of silverware being unwrapped. Around them, couples broke apart and began drifting toward their assigned tables, where waitstaff in crisp white uniforms glided between chairs with trays of garden salads. The timing couldn't have been better—Raven needed space to breathe, to process whatever was happening between them. She followed Damian through the crowd, hyperaware of his hand resting lightly against the small of her back as he guided them toward their table, where the first course awaited.

Thank god. Time to regroup and calm the spinning, tumbling, tripping thoughts in her mind.

Raven collapsed into her chair at the long banquet table, trying not to visibly hyperventilate. Her heart was still doing Olympic-level gymnastics. Her body still tingled from the soft touch of his fingers against her waist.

Damian sat down next to her, way too casually for someone who had just made her liquid with one simple touch in front of a bunch of strangers.

He picked up a glass of water like nothing happened. Like he hadn’t just held her like she actually meant something to him. Like he hadn’t practically melted her bones.

Raven stabbed her fork into her salad, missing the lettuce entirely and spearing the tablecloth.

Smooth.

She yanked it back quickly, cheeks burning, and focused very hard on pretending to read the menu card in front of her.

Meanwhile, Damian shifted beside her. His knee brushed hers under the table—a tiny touch, probably accidental—and Raven jumped like someone had tasered her.

"You okay?" Damian asked under his breath, leaning toward her.

She could feel his breath on her ear, could smell the faint, ridiculous hint of his aftershave again—clean, woodsy, warm.

Raven nodded, a jerky little bob. "Fine. Totally fine. Why wouldn’t I be fine?"

Damian simply smiled—a small, secretive thing—and settled back into his seat.

As the waiters started bringing out the main course, Raven tried desperately to focus on anything else: the glittering fairy lights above them, the buzz of conversation, the random old uncle arguing about fantasy football three seats down.

But it was impossible.

Because all she could think about was:

1. How Damian's hand was resting on the table inches from hers, fingers loose and inviting.

2. How his pinky kept twitching like he maybe, possibly, wanted to touch her again.

3. How stupidly, unfairly handsome he looked right now—jacket unbuttoned, tie slightly loosened, hair a mess from her fingers spearing through it.

God.

She was so far past fucked it wasn’t even funny.

Halfway through the main course, Damian shifted again and—definitely very deliberately this time—bumped his knee against hers under the table. It didn’t help that the dress slit at her thigh, making it so his knee collided with her very bare, very warm skin.

Raven froze.

When she glanced sideways, he wasn’t even looking at her.

Just smirking a little to himself, like he knew exactly what he was doing.

The worst part?

She wanted to kick him.

And also maybe jump him right there between the bread baskets. Or climb him like a tree.

"Having fun yet?" Damian murmured, still not looking at her.

Raven stabbed another piece of lettuce with unnecessary violence.

"Having the time of my life," she said sweetly. "Thanks for asking."

Damian chuckled—low and soft—and finally, finally looked at her.

His eyes were bright and mischievous and something else too—something warmer, no something much hotter. Scalding, even.

Something that told her that maybe…maybe…he wasn’t faking anymore either.

Then, someone tapped Damian on the shoulder from behind, a strong hand in an ink-black suit. She turned around quickly and looked up…and up.

“Father,” Damian chuckled, pushing himself out of the seat and turning to face his impossibly even taller father. “This is Raven.” He held out a hand to help her up. “My girlfriend.”

Somehow the word held more conviction this time. Perhaps it was because it was his father he was lying to? Perhaps it was because of…

Focus, Raven.

“Nice to meet you, Raven,” Bruce smiled as he shook Raven’s hand with a sturdiest handshake she’d ever received. “I’m Bruce, but I’m sure you know that by now.”

She froze slightly and resisted the urge to throw a sideways glance at Damian for not telling her his father's name. She knew Samantha. Kori. Richard. But his father? That would have been helpful information. What was she supposed to do if she had bumped into him at the bar and he started talking to her? ‘Oh, hello random wealthy-looking man I've never formally met before.’ That would have been absolutely mortifying.

Instead, the only morsel of information she received was that he that might spill some embarrassing stories about the seemingly perfect man beside her. Internally, she snorted. She had to admit it, though, she’d pay good money to hear those stories.

Maybe her thought wasn’t as subtle as she intended, as Damian glanced at her with a challenging look in his eyes.

As if on cue, Bruce opened his mouth with a wide grin, and she felt Damian brace himself beside her, but then someone carrying a large camera cut beside them and took a picture, the click and flash stopping Bruce’s sentence even before it formed.

Damnit. She could have received all that useful information for…research. Or blackmail. Or both.

“Oh, get a picture of just these two lovebirds!” Bruce said, shooting Damian a wink. “It’s not every day this one is seen with a girlfriend.”

“Thanks for the compliment,” Damian muttered under his breath as Bruce ushered them into an area that had a carved marble archway. The delicate stone vines seemed to dance with real roses, their petals catching the warm glow of dozens of dancing candles. Strands of twinkling fairy lights wove through the stonework like captured starlight, creating an ethereal curtain that transformed the simple archway into something out of a fairytale.

It was…magical.

Like straight out of a rom-com magical. What was going to happen now—a fake kiss?

She nearly scoffed at the thought, then, she heard it:

“Kiss for the camera!”

Raven’s stomach dropped straight to her toes. Fuck, I manifested that.

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

It started small—probably one of Damian’s obnoxious cousins—but it spread like wildfire, picking up volume, until the whole room was chanting.

Raven froze, her eyes snapping to Damian’s.

He looked just as panicked as she felt, one hand still half-extended like he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to run for the exit or drop to one knee.

Oh God.

This is happening.

This is actually happening.

Around them, the crowd was clapping, laughing, jeering like this was the halftime show at a football game and not, you know, her imminent emotional collapse.

Damian gave her a helpless look—the tiniest shrug, a ‘what can you do?’ grimace—and then stepped closer.

"Sorry," he murmured under his breath, voice barely audible over the noise.

Sorry for what, making me humiliate myself in front of your family by fainting right in this spot?

And then he cupped her face with both hands like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Raven’s brain completely shut off. Just—static. Pure, white-noise panic.

He was warm, and steady, and close, and when he dipped his head to kiss her, she froze. Her heart hammered wildly against her ribcage, her breath hitched in her throat. A part of her wanted to bolt—to turn and run as far as her legs would carry her—while another part remained rooted to the spot, terrified and yet inexplicably anticipating, desperately wanting, what was about to happen. Her whole body tingled with nervous energy, and she wondered, absurdly, if she remembered how to kiss at all. And then his lips met hers, and everything around her—the laughter, the clapping, the music—all of it blurred into nothing.

It wasn’t a fake kiss.

It wasn’t a peck-for-show.

It was soft, careful, real.

His lips brushed hers once, tentative—like he was asking permission—and when she didn’t immediately combust or flee the building, he kissed her again. Deeper this time. Slower.

Raven’s hands slid up without thinking, one curling into the front of his jacket, the other through the soft strands of his hair. Holding on.

Damian's thumbs stroked lightly across her cheeks, and he tilted his head just enough to slot their mouths together even more perfectly—and god, it was so much worse than she thought it would be.

Worse because it was perfect.

Because it felt good.

Too good.

His lips were impossibly warm against hers, demanding yet somehow gentle as they moved with practiced confidence. When his tongue traced the seam of her mouth, she opened for him with a small, desperate sound she'd deny making later. Heat bloomed low in her belly as he deepened the kiss, tasting faintly of champagne and something darker, something uniquely him. His fingers slid from her cheeks to tangle in her hair, angling her head back slightly as he continued his thorough, devastating exploration of her mouth. Every nerve ending in her body seemed to catch fire at once, and Raven knew with absolute certainty she was completely, utterly, without-a-doubt fucked.

Her heart was hammering, her body buzzing, and when she finally broke the kiss, it wasn’t because she wanted to.

It was because she had to—lungs burning, head spinning. She was literally about to explode.

A roar of cheers and whistles exploded around them, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. All of her senses—the smell of Damian, the taste of Damian, the feeling of his lips on hers—made her completely forget that they were sharing a kiss for just a fucking picture. In front of literally everyone.

Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Did they almost have a full-blown make out session in front of his entire family?

Raven blinked, dazed, as Damian dropped his hands and took an abrupt step back, shoving his own through his hair again like he was physically restraining himself from grabbing her and doing the same damn thing all over again.

"Wow," someone said nearby. "Get married already!"

Raven laughed—breathless and wobbly—and ducked her head, pretending to be bashful so no one could see the absolute chaos happening on her face.

They just witnessed the best fucking kiss I’ve ever had in my entire fucking life.

Damian leaned closer, just barely, so only she could hear:

"See? That...that wasn’t too bad, was it?"

Raven risked a glance up at him.

His cheeks were pink. His eyes were shining. His lips were parted, and slightly tinted by her lip gloss on his perfect fucking lips.

And suddenly, she didn’t feel like laughing anymore.

She felt like kissing him again.

So bad it was almost a physical ache.

I’m so fucking screwed, she thought wildly for the hundredth time all evening.

When they made their way back to the main room, Raven barely made it through the main course without combusting.

Between Damian’s occasional knee taps, the stolen glances, and the lingering awareness of that kiss—that kiss—she felt like she was walking around with an electrified wire running under her skin.

So when Damian leaned in and said, "Come on. You look like you’re about to faint," and tugged gently on her wrist under the table—she didn’t even hesitate.

She followed him out of the crowded hall, through a side door and down a quiet garden path lit by fairy lights and paper lanterns. The night air was cooler, softer, and Raven gulped it in like a drowning woman. Moonlight dappled the cobblestones between the swaying shadows of cypress trees, and the sweet scent of night-blooming jasmine wrapped around them like an invisible mist. In the distance, the muffled sounds of the party drifted out through leaded glass windows, but here, surrounded by the gentle rustle of leaves and the whisper of a fountain somewhere in the darkness, it felt like they'd stepped into another world entirely.

Damian slowed once they were away from the noise, shoving his hands into his pockets, glancing at her sideways.

"You okay?" he asked again, quieter this time.

Raven nodded quickly, wrapping her arms around herself for something to latch onto that wasn't the toned muscles of his chest. "I’m fine. Just—" She blew out a breath. "Your family’s a lot."

He chuckled. "Tell me about it."

They walked a few more steps in easy silence. The sounds of the party continued to fade behind them—laughter and clinking glasses dimming into the background—until it felt like they were the only two people left in the world.

Raven risked a sideways glance. In the soft light, Damian looked…different. Less guarded. More...real.

She was so busy trying not to stare at the cut of his jaw, the way one curl of his hair fell a little into his eyes, that she almost missed what he said next.

"You know," Damian said, voice casual but rough around the edges, "I recognized you."

Raven blinked. "What?"

"From college." He shrugged, kicking a loose stone along the path. "You were friends with Liam, right? You were at that Halloween party sophomore year. The one where the guy set the microwave on fire.” He chuckled, as if recalling a fond memory. “Plus, chemistry study group where you…you…you know…”

Raven's mouth fell open. "You remember that?"

Damian smiled a little—and it wasn’t the fake, charming smile he used for the family. It was smaller. Realer.

"Yeah," he said. "I remember you."

Raven's brain short-circuited all over again. In a full-blown, fight-or-flight panic, her mouth decided to override her survival instincts entirely and blurt out:

"I thought you were cute."

Dead. She was dead.

Absolutely fucked—and not in the way she wanted.

The words just exploded out of her, and there was no taking them back now.

Raven slapped a hand over her mouth like that would somehow rewind time. Damian turned to stare at her, eyebrows raised, clearly fighting a smile.

"You did?" he said, sounding waaaaaaay too pleased with himself.

Raven made a tiny strangled noise in the back of her throat that she'd definitely deny later, too. "I meant—I—like, objectively! Like, 'oh yeah, he's cute'—but like, in a normal way. In a 'everyone thinks that' way. Not a me way. Specifically. Not that I thought about it! Because I didn’t. Obviously. That would be—"

Damian stepped closer.

Raven’s words tripped over themselves and died.

He wasn’t smirking now. Not really. He was just...looking at her. Soft and a little wondering, like she was some kind of puzzle he was starting to understand.

"You still think so?" he asked quietly.

Raven opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

And then, very bravely, very stupidly, she nodded once.

Damian smiled—a real one this time, wide and a little crooked—and Raven felt her knees threaten to give out.

"Good," he said simply.

And for a second, it felt like maybe he was going to kiss her again. Right there under the fairy lights. For real this time. Maybe more than just a five-second kiss for show.

Raven’s heart soared and plummeted in the same breath.

The night breeze ruffled his dark hair, making it dance across his forehead in a way that seemed almost unfair. Raven couldn't help but stare, drinking in every detail of his face—the sharp line of his jaw, the slight quirk of his lips, the intensity in his eyes that made something deep in her chest constrict painfully. She looked at him like she was trying to memorize him, like she was afraid this moment might slip away if she dared to blink. And then, he simply just reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear, fingers barely grazing her cheek.

It was nothing, but somehow…it was everything.

Raven swayed toward him without meaning to, her breath caught somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. Much to her surprise, Damian caught her, both his hands resting on the sides of her arms, so warm, so steady, so…right. Guess she swayed more than she thought she had.

"Come on," Damian said, voice low and impossibly soft. "Before they come looking for us." And then he offered his hand, palm up, like it was the easiest, most natural, most instinctive thing in the world.

Raven stared at it for half a second—at the long fingers, the callused skin—and then placed her hand in his.

His fingers curled around hers, lacing through them in a way that felt like he'd done it a thousand times before—and wouldn't mind doing it a thousand times more.