Page 67 of BounBound By Scars

He groaned, deep and dramatic. “I’m just making sure the devil doesn’t slither onto the dance floor.”

I laughed as he pulled me onto the floor. “You’re so stupid.”

“She brings it out in me,” he muttered, but there was something softer underneath—something almost… fond. I didn’t miss it.

As we moved, something shifted. His hand at my lower back spread wider, his grip subtly tighter. I followed his gaze over my shoulder, just in time to catch Inez dancing with Mateo—too close, too familiar.

Sebastian’s jaw ticked.

I didn’t call him out. I didn’t have to. His whole body was giving him away, and it made me want to grin.

But, naturally, he pivoted. “We need to figure out what Romlinson actually means. Not just the name, the whole network. Kabir’s the key. He needs to find an in to the White House.”

His voice was smooth, too smooth—but his fingers twitched. And sure enough, his eyes flicked toward Inez again.

“It’s a wedding, Seb. Can we leave the theories out of the slow dance?” I twirled, catching another glimpse of Inez laughing at something Mateo said. She was good at that—laughing in ways that drew every eye. Especially Seb’s.

“And you do realize we’re not fake-dating anymore,” I added, eyeing his tight grip on me. “You can stop pretending to seduce me.”

He smirked. “Who said I was pretending?”

I frowned, stepping back slightly, but he reeled me in—closer this time. His heart beat steady against mine, a contradiction to the storm in his expression.

“My speech was for him, Seb,” I whispered. “I’m sorry, but it’s him. It never wasnothim.”

His smile didn’t falter. Not even a crack. He simply nodded.

“I know,” he said. “I guess I just thought… maybe something real could come out of it.”

I offered a small, sad smile. “It couldn’t have. I told you. And you’re just as taken as I am.”

He tensed. “I have no clue what you’re talking about,” he replied, but his hold on me tightened. “This heart lost its capacity for love a long time ago. But when we were… together, you helped. You helped me more than you know.”

“We were barely together, Seb. It was familiarity. We’ve known each other for years.”

“Decades,” he murmured, almost wistfully.

“What’s bothering you?”

He chuckled and then paused in contemplation. “You know we’ve technically been on three dates?”

I blinked. “Oh? You’re counting the nights I spent dumping alcohol down your sink?”

“Yeah. Three. Count them.” He spun me smoothly, his rhythm effortless.

Then, when we faced each other again, he said, “I want a goodbye kiss, Lia.”

Lia?

Did he just call me Lia?

I meant to say no to the kiss.

But I didn’t get the chance.

He kissed me—quick, chaste. A parting, not a proposition.

But it felt wrong. For so many reasons.

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