Drew Starkey Imagines

So This is Love

The music floated through the garden like something out of a fairy tale — violins laced with piano, low conversations murmuring beneath the notes, candlelight flickering across crystal glasses. You stepped through the arched entrance of the Island Club on Rafe's arm, your dress catching the breeze like it had a heartbeat of its own.

You wore white — soft, airy, embroidered with pale blue flowers that kissed your skin every time you moved. Your heels clicked softly against the stone path, but Rafe's hand on the small of your back grounded you. The way he looked at you tonight wasn't casual. It wasn't lust, either. It was reverent. Like you were a wish he never dared speak aloud.

He leaned in as you walked up the steps beside him.

"You're gonna make every girl here hate you," he murmured, voice warm and teasing against your ear.

You smiled. "They already do. You're holding my hand."

⸻

Rose was all beaming pride the moment she saw you — doting on your hair, your nails, your "graceful posture." She adored you, and you adored her back. Sarah appeared moments later, squealing your name and dragging you away for a quick walk through the tulips, Wheezie trailing behind you.

You loved her like a sister. You always had. She grabbed your hand and walked beside you while Sarah talked about the latest gossip on the island. But your eyes kept drifting back toward the lantern-lit lawn, toward him.

Rafe.

Standing there in his tailored, light-blue suit, holding a glass of champagne, laughing softly at something Kelce had said — but his eyes were scanning the crowd. Looking for you.

You returned to his side just as the string quartet shifted to a more romantic melody — dreamy, slow, like something out of an old film. He set his glass down and extended a hand.

"Dance with me."

You hesitated for only a moment — then placed your hand in his. His fingers laced through yours, warm and sure.

⸻

The dance floor wasn't so much a floor as it was a wide marble patio, ringed with lanterns and white roses. Couples swayed slowly beneath the lights, but Rafe pulled you a little farther out, toward the edge where the music sounded clearer, softer.

He didn't dance like someone who was trying to show off. He danced like someone who was trying to hold on.

One hand on your waist. The other cupping your hand, close to his chest. Your bodies moved together in perfect ease — like you'd been dancing together for lifetimes.

"You really like this stuff?" he murmured.

"What — fancy garden parties, or dancing with you?"

"Both."

You smiled, leaning in just a little closer. "I like anything when I'm with you."

And then — in one fluid motion — he spun you out and pulled you back, catching you with a hand at your waist, eyes shining like mischief and love and everything you ever wanted.

"I saw it in a movie," he said with a grin.

And before you could ask, he picked you up — both arms around your waist, spinning you in a slow, laughing circle under the stars.

You gasped, hands holding onto his shoulders as you laughed, your dress fluttering out like petals. For a moment, you forgot the people watching. The Camerons. Ward's cold stare. Anything before or after this moment.

It was only the two of you.
And the music.
And love.

⸻

Later, when the party dimmed and the moon took center stage, Rafe tugged you toward the driveway with that playful gleam in his eye.

"Let's get outta here."

"Rafe—what about your family?"

"They'll survive."

Tannyhill was quiet when you arrived — empty, golden-hued, echoing with the ghosts of old arguments and dinner parties. But none of that mattered. You kicked off your shoes in the hallway, laughing as he chased you toward the pool.

Upstairs, you peeled off your dress and carefully folded it. Underneath, you slipped into your soft pink bikini — the one with the tie bows at the hips and the low scoop in the front. You felt a little exposed, but when Rafe saw you, leaning in the doorway of his room, his breath caught audibly in his throat.

He'd changed out of his suit and into navy swim shorts. Hair mussed. Tie abandoned somewhere back at the club. And the look he gave you...

"You're unreal," he whispered.

You smirked. "You're just now noticing?"

⸻

The pool glittered under the stars. It was warm — but the water felt like relief after a night of champagne and candlelight. You floated beside him, fingertips brushing, your laughter echoing through the yard as he splashed you once, then swam behind you just to tug you into his arms.

He kissed your shoulder underwater. Then your jaw. Then your lips — slow and soft.

"This night feels fake," he whispered, nose brushing yours.

"Maybe it is," you murmured. "Maybe we're asleep."

"Nah," he said, brushing a hand through your wet hair. "Only in dreams does shit feel this good."

You swam in circles, talked about nothing and everything. Plans. Old memories. The way he used to think you hated him. How wrong he was. How he's never felt like this before — not with anyone.

"You know Ward doesn't see me, right?" he said suddenly, quiet. "Like really doesn't. I could burn this house down and he'd just—"

"I see you," you interrupted, fingers sliding up his chest. "You hear me, Rafe? I see you. Always."

His arms tightened around your waist. "Don't say things like that unless you mean them."

You nodded, pressing your forehead to his. "I do. I mean every word."

And then... he kissed you again.

Deeper this time. Slower.

The kind of kiss that makes the world tilt. Makes your legs float out behind you in the water. The kind of kiss that makes you think —

So this is love.

So this is what it's supposed to feel like. Not parties or praise. Not expensive gifts or empty promises. Just this:

Skin to skin, heart to heart, breath to breath.
A boy who's broken. A girl who believes in him.
And a summer night that feels like it could last forever.