Page 26 of Legacy
I smirk. “To a wonderful week.”
We clink.
He sinks beside me on the couch, his thigh brushing mine as he settles in. He takes a sip then jostles his arm just a little too wide.
The wine sloshes.
I gasp as the dark red splashes across my chest, soaking into the soft fabric of my sweater. It blooms fast; deep, spreading, dramatic.
“Shit,” he mutters, already grabbing for napkins, “I’m-fuck,I didn’t mean—”
I look down at the mess, then back up at him.
And start laughing.
His hands freeze mid-wipe.
“It’s fine,” I say, laughing harder when I see his horrified expression. “It kind of… works.”
He blinks. “You’re not upset?”
“No. Honestly?” I run a finger through the wet stain, the wine cool against my skin. “The burgundy makes it better. I love the color.”
He watches me for a second; that intense stare returning, softened by amusement, sharpened by something else.
“You like red,” he says like it’s a revelation.
I nod. “All shades. Crimson, maroon, burgundy…”
His grin stretches slowly. “That red dress you wore the night we met?” He exhales through his nose. “Fucking unforgettable.”
My face heats instantly, the wine doing nothing to hide the color blooming in my cheeks.
“You’re doing it again,” he says.
“What?”
He leans in, just enough that I can feel his breath on my neck. “Turning scarlet.”
I nudge him with my elbow, but my smile gives me away.
His fingers drift toward my wineglass and gently take it from my hand. He sets it down on the small table beside us and then stands, holding out a hand.
“Dance with me.”
I blink. “On yet another balcony barefoot?”
He shrugs. “Why not?”
I hesitate, but only for a second before slipping my hand into his. He pulls me up, slow and deliberate, until we’re chest to chest. The music swells from the record player inside, low, rich, like smoke, and we sway, bare feet on tile, his arms sliding around my waist.
He smells like wine and warmth and something heavier underneath like mints and secrets.
I rest my hand over his heart. It’s steady. Strong. It feels like a place I could fall asleep against.
We move together in silence, and I think—this is what safe feels like.
His fingers find the hem of my stained sweater and skim it, ghosting over my hip as if memorizing the shape of me. His other hand cups the back of my neck, thumb brushing slow circles just beneath my hairline.
