Collide✔️

t w e n t y f o u r

My jaw hangs open as I stare at the man beside me, a bottle of wine in hand, protected from his hands by a brilliant white handkerchief. He looks at me expectantly, not even the slightest hint of amusement on his face, as though he does not stand here now, in the very dining room that my family dine in too, masquerading as one of our butlers.

Perhaps I stare so long because he looks positively breathtaking. His dress shirt I can tell has been steamed, with not a crease in sight, buttoned, bar his collar, and pulled tight to his chest by the white waistcoat that fastens at his midriff. Then, tailored as though just for him, a black tuxedo jacket with a second white handkerchief protruding from his breast pocket, and straight leg black trousers.

The cuffs of his shirt sleeves are held tight with cufflinks – those I recognise to be ones purchased from the very same stall I bought my ring – and to complete the attire, a bow tie, sat flush against his neck. Yet, it is not this apparel that makes him so attractive. No, it is the way that he has gelled his hair, sweeping it back against his scalp so it all collects towards the nape of his neck. Though somehow, he has managed to capture the character I have come to know. A single strand curls forward, tickling his eyebrow and skimming his full lashes whenever he blinks.

For a moment, as I focus on that strand of hair, I see the glint in his hazel eyes, prompting a staggered breath into my lungs. His crooked nose, his perfectly chiseled jaw and the stubble that lines it, now only a shadow that ventures towards his full lips, tinted rose –

"Allora." With a start, I'm pulled from that dangerous reverie, turning wide eyed towards my father and away from him. My Kian. "The man has offered you wine."

With a fisted hand hovering over my mouth, I clear my throat and try desperately to ignore the burning flush rising to my ears. Slowly, I turn back to Kian, our gazes meeting instantly. "Sorry. My train of thought escaped me for a moment." I apologize. The corner of his mouth twitches, but he manages to maintain a state of professionalism. "Wine would be wonderful."

My hands itch to help, but I know that would only rouse suspicion. It seems Kian has been studying the protocol from the sidelines, however, as he takes a steady hand to my waiting wine glass, filling it on a measured angle. He lets his eyes flit towards me as the deep read liquid fills the glass, a telling twitch on his lips where a smirk threatens to show.

Stiffly, I nod, letting him know to stop pouring, and he places my glass down where it sat before. "Thank you." I murmur, straightening myself in my seat in an attempt to regain my composure. He hardly regards me, but I cannot do anything but watch as he makes his way around the table, filling the dwindling glasses, one after another. Such precision, as though perfectly practiced. His speech articulate, his movements smooth.

If I did not know better, I would not assume him to be an imposter. Of course, I do know better. So, when our eyes meet across the table, my heart tumbles into a frenzy, my breathing hitches. Adrenaline, excitement, fright – so many emotions bombard me in one single tidal wave and for a second, I think I might well be sick.