Page 6 of Anton
The music picked up, and my attention stayed fixed on Marcie. The crowd around her swelled, and suddenly, two young guys were there—sidling up to her and Claire. Possessiveness surged through me as one of them placed his hands around Marcie’s waist.
My whole body tensed. My jaw clenched, my knuckles whitening as I grasped the railing.
“Problem?” Luca asked, noting the change in my posture. I didn’t need to reply as his gaze followed mine.
Marcie swayed, her back pressed against the stranger’s chest. I should have left the party then and let her enjoy herself with another. But I stayed, watching, my lips pressed tightly together, every muscle tensed like a spring wound too tight.
Luca’s shoulders squared, his expression hardening like a storm brewing just beneath the surface.
Claire was caught in the other guy’s arms, her hips moving to the beat, and Luca’s jaw tightened, his usual protective edge sharpening.
Without waiting for my response, he abandoned his drink, shot me a quick glance, and stalked toward the stairs, heading straight for the dance floor. I followed without hesitation.
Tapping them on the backs, we gestured for them to piss off. One was about to protest, but a low growl from Luca was all it took to change his mind. Luca cut in, taking Claire’s hand without a word. I mirrored him, grabbing Marcie’s wrist with more force than I intended, spinning her around until she faced me, a playful, tipsy smile already forming on her lips.
“Anton!” she gasped in delight. “You can’t seem to stay away,” she teased, her body moving in sync with mine as we fell into the rhythm of the music.
What the hell was I doing? I should’ve let her dance with that guy. If I had no intention of pursuing anything more with her, I should’ve let go. Marcie was a great woman, strong, independent—she deserved someone who could offer her the love she needed. I’d kept insisting we were just friends, but if that was truly the case, why couldn’t I walk away?
Instead, I remained with her in my arms, getting lost in the moment, in the feel of her. The warmth of her body, the way she fit perfectly against me, and the way she let me hold her so naturally. It was reckless. Irresponsible. But for a few minutes, I allowed myself to pretend. Pretend that I could be the man she deserved.
Then she leaned in, her lips dangerously close to mine, the scent of alcohol on her breath. “Anton…” Her voice was soft, pleading, and I felt the pull in my chest as she closed the distance.
God, how I wanted to kiss her. But I couldn’t. Not like this, not when she’d been drinking, and certainly not when I had no intention of being the man she needed.
With a deep breath, I pulled back gently. “You’re drunk, Marcie.”
Her frown was immediate, eyes glassy and searching, but before she could protest, I led her off the dance floor. “Let’s get you upstairs,” I muttered, guiding her toward the tables where some of our friends were sitting.
I left her with Gracie and the others, forcing myself to walk away, trying to create some distance. Yet I never went far—I never could. Laughter and gasps pulled my attention back, and there she was—Little Miss Sassy, swaying unsteadily on a table, dancing like no one was watching.
A smile tugged at my lips, even as my feet moved before I thought, crossing the room in seconds, positioning myself close enough to catch her if—no, when—she fell. And sure enough, within minutes, her legs gave way beneath her, and she collapsed.
But I was there. I caught her before she hit the floor, pulling her into my arms as her eyes fluttered open, her breath uneven and soft.
“Got you,” I whispered, tightening my grip around her, knowing with every part of me that no matter how hard I tried to push her away, I would always be the one to catch her.
CHAPTER 3
MARCIE
THE FOLLOWING MORNING – HANGOVER FROM HELL
The light seeping through the curtains felt like knives, each beam a sharp, relentless reminder of my own stupidity. Groaning, I rolled over, burying my face in the pillow to muffle the relentless pounding in my head. My mouth tasted of regret and tequila—never a good combination. But no amount of groaning could drown out the memory that cut through the haze of my hangover like a flashing neon sign: I tried to kiss Anton. And he’d refused me.
He’d been so close, holding me while we danced. For one brief, heart-stopping moment, I thought maybe, just maybe, he was going to kiss me back. But no—he pulled away. Like he always does. And naturally, I handled it badly: drowned my sorrows with another shot of tequila, masked my humiliation with forced laughter, and hopped up onto the nearest table to showcase my questionable dancing skills. Until, of course, I nearly face-planted off the damn thing, only to be saved at the last second by the man who haunted my dreams and wrecked my heart.
I groaned again, curling deeper into the duvet, wishing it would swallow me whole. Why did I keep doing this to myself? Why did I keep letting him in, only for him to push me away?
It wasn’t the first time he’d turned me down. By now, I was well-acquainted with that sting. From the moment we first met, he’d made it clear—he didn’t mix business with pleasure. No matter how much I flirted or tried to get him to see me as more than just another client, he remained steadfastly professional. I was his client and later his friend, but never anything more. Eventually, I forced myself to accept it.
Until New Year’s Eve at Platinum.
As the bells rang in the new year, he kissed me. Not a polite peck on the cheek, but something that made my heart race and the world disappear. I could still feel the way he’d held me close as fireworks lit up the night sky. It had been magical—until he pulled away, uttering apologies and once again, I was shoved back into the ‘just friends’ box.
Since then, he’d been infuriatingly inconsistent. One moment, his touch lingered and his eyes burned with something I couldn’t name; the next, he’d shut down completely. And then last week, when I finally worked up the courage to ask him out, his answer—“Sorry, Marcie, I can’t,”—cut deeper than it should have.
After that I tried to convince myself that friendship was enough. But then, a couple of nights ago, at Derrick’s engagement party, I thought things had finally changed.