I glance back and see a man and woman who must be in their eighties. He’s dressed in a three-piece light gray suit, an honest to god red carnation tucked into his lapel. The woman’s dress looks like something out of the 40s. They move together in perfect harmony, his hand in hers as they smile at each other.
Chess glances at me but then her gaze goes back to the couple. “What must that be like? To spend an entire lifetime with someone, and the threads of who you are have become so interwoven, you can’t part without unraveling.”
I don’t know. But I want to find out.
The song ends and another begins. It’s slow, the woman’s voice filled with tender love and bittersweet nostalgia as she sings along to the piano. I listen to the lyrics and start to smile. “This song was playing when I walked you home that first night.”
Chess’s brows draw together. “It was?”
“Elvis was singing it then.”
Her expression clears as she listens. “‘Can’t Help Falling in Love.’ I remember.”
I put my napkin down on the table and stand. “Dance with me.”
Chess blanches. “What here?”
“That’s the idea, yeah.”
She hedges, her gaze darting from the dance floor to me.
I’m patient. But I’m not letting this go. Not when it’s this song, in this moment. “Some things you don’t take a picture of, Chess. You live them.” I reach out to her. “Take my hand.”
For a second, she just stares at me as if she’s never seen me before. I don’t move, don’t look away. Chess licks her lips and slowly she puts her hand in mine.
The world shifts then and there, and it’s as though I’m drawing my first breath. I hold her hand and lead her to the dance floor. She moves into my embrace, and then there is nothing else. Just Chess. The scent of sea and sun in her hair, the smooth satin of her skin. I am a fucking goner. A man capable of cheesy poetry and big gestures.
I don’t even care. Bring it. I want it all.
We flow together, barely dancing, just swaying and listening to the music. Her cheek rests against my chest, her arms wrapped around my waist as if she doesn’t want to let go. I hold her closer, smoothing my hands up her arm, down the narrow slope of her back.
Part of me wants to get to my knees before her. I press my cheek to the crown of her head and breath in, let myself fall. A white light flashes, and for a second, it doesn’t register.
There is another. I turn my head, and spot the guy holding up a camera phone aimed at me. Rage punches into my gut, so hard I make a sound. Chess stops, moving back a step, her gaze zeroing in on the guy too. Her body stiffens, and it kills me.
I’m used to getting my picture taken without my permission. But that fucker didn’t just violate my privacy, he violated Chess’s.
I take a step, and her hand presses against the small of my back. “Don’t,” she says in a low voice. I peer down at her. She looks at me with pleading eyes. “It’s not worth trouble.”
My thumb strokes her chin. “He does not get that piece of us.”
Another flash, and now my eye is twitching. No fucking way.
“Trust me, it will be all right.” Giving Chess a tight smile, I take her hand and head toward the asshole snapping pictures of us.
Dude stiffens as soon as he realizes I’m actually coming for him. I almost feel guilty about the way his gaze darts around and his mouth trembles, as if he can’t decide to smile or bolt. Physically intimidating guys weaker than me is not my style. I make it easy for him.
“Hey, man.” I hold out my hand. “Finn Mannus.”
He glances at my hand for a second, as if trying to decide whether I’m going to rip his off. But then he relents and gives me a weak, quick shake. “Hey.”
When I don’t do anything aggressive, his grip gets a little stronger. “Manny, I knew it was you. I fucking love you, man.”
Yeah, no shit. I nod, giving him an easy smile, as Chess hovers at my side, gripping the back of my shirt. I drop dude’s sweaty hand, but my smile remains. “Saw you taking pictures of me and my girl.”
Just like that, dude gets all stiff again, thrusting up his chin. “You’re in public.”
And you’re kind of a dick.
“Sure. I was wondering if I could get a copy.” I nod toward Chess, as I wrap my arm around her. “It’s our first date. Be nice to have a memento of it.”
I can feel Chess’s stare. She’s wondering what the hell I’m doing. It makes my smile a little more genuine, because I love the sound of her chiding voice in my head.
Dude’s date, who hasn’t said a word until now, perks up. “Oh, that’s so sweet. Dougie, isn’t that sweet?”
He gives his girl an annoyed look, as if to say he’s in charge, but then puffs up his chest a bit. “Yeah, sure, Manny.”
“Cool. Can we have a look?” Another fake smile. “My girl really wants to see them.”
Dougie is not entirely stupid and hesitates.
I hold out my hand and stare him down, but keep my pleasant expression. If he says no now, he comes off as a complete dick in front of his girl and his supposed idol.
Finally, he hands over his phone. Jesus, he took a lot. My anger rises. At my side, Chess’s fingers dig into my arm. But she doesn’t let her emotions show. “Your eyes are closed in that one,” she points out lightly.
“I like slow dancing with my eyes closed,” I tell her with the same levity, as I highlight the photo and a half a dozen more. They’re grainy or overdeveloped with the flash, but every image shows what I’m feeling for Chess with perfect clarity. And while I’m not the least bit ashamed of that, the idea of it being all over the internet—and I have no fucking doubt that’s where these are headed—makes me want to crush the phone in my hand.
A sense of violation coats my insides like hot tar.