Romeo and Juliet

45 -E-

Ethereal Angel

"You couldn't resist touching me, could you?" His laughter rings out as my hand finds its place on his shoulder, joining the other with his.

I roll my eyes, a playful retort ready. "I knew Prince Charming was a fleeting fantasy," I giggle.

The thrum of his heartbeat—or is it my own wishful thinking?—vibrates against my palm. It's ludicrous to think I could make him nervous, yet I cling to the hope, letting it fuel my resolve. As I lay my head against his chest, his scent—a masculine bouquet—fills my senses, igniting a spark of desire.

"The way that dress adorns you, it's as if you're an ethereal angel, misplaced from heaven. Even the backlighting conspires to affirm it. I couldn't keep silent," he smirks, his words a sweet surprise.

A squeal echoes in the recesses of my mind. His unexpected compliment emboldens me. The thought of wedging myself between him and Holly is distasteful, but he deserves the truth, and I refuse to harbor regrets.

"Thanks," I reply, a smile gracing my lips.

"I had no idea about your parents' divorce two months back. Juggling a wedding and the prospect of a new sibling must be overwhelming."

A solitary tear betrays me, and I despise its presence. Memories of a careless childhood morph into a dismal adulthood. "Yeah, it is," I murmur.

He gently lifts my chin, his gaze intense and protective. "Don't cry, Juliet," he whispers, his eyes imploring, stirring a tremor within me.

Desire surges through me—I yearn for his kiss, his embrace, his love. Every fiber of my being cries out for him, yet my mind urges caution.

"I need to tell you something." Our eyes lock, and I'm transported to another realm, his stormy gaze captivating me.

As we sway to the tender melody, I rest my head once more, unsure if I can bear the intensity of his stare. He unnerves me, stripping away my composure.

"Tell me," he breathes, the scent of tequila, beer, and wine mingling in the air.

"I don't want to frighten you away."

"Just tell me," he insists.

"I've been torn about sharing this with you."

"But you believe I should know..." he interjects.

I nod. "You should, even though I fear rejection," I whisper. He halts, and I look up to find him towering over me, his sudden stature dwarfing even my heels.

"What did you say?"

My throat tightens, and I muster my courage. His expression is unreadable, throwing me off balance. "I actually like you, Romeo. And it's not because I want to interfere with you and Holly. I've wanted to tell you, but courage eluded me. Now, even if you turn me away, at least I've spoken my truth."

His impassive face drains the strength from my legs, yet we remain entwined on the dance floor.

Secretly, I hope for laughter, an opportunity to dismiss my confession as a joke. Or perhaps he'll reciprocate my feelings, having concealed his own. But such fantasies belong to romance novels, not to the reality of Romeo, who knows not of love. 

He remains silent, his Adam's apple bobbing in a mute dance. His gaze fixates on me, as if I've sprouted an extra head, igniting a fury within me. I had braced for laughter or scorn, not this unsettling quiet.