Page 15 of Her Naughty Billionaire

She seems momentarily taken aback, as if she hadn't expected such a candid response. Then, with a glint of appreciation in her eyes, she says, "That's beautiful. It's a side of you I wouldn't have guessed existed."

I shrug, taking a bite of the duck. "Well, you wanted something real."

“Is that where your love for astronomy began?”

I lean in conspiratorially. “Don’t tell Whitmore, but I can barely find the Big Dipper on a clear night.”

“I figured as much,” Sophia smirks, twirling her fork in the risotto. "Your turn. Ask away."

“Tell me about a time you felt free.”

Her fingers absentmindedly play with the delicate silver locket at her throat, each movement drawing my attention to the graceful curve of her neck. "You know the piano at the manor? Sometimes, when everyone's asleep late at night, I sneak downstairs and play wearing just my pajamas. No sheet music, no audience, just me and the keys."

I raise an eyebrow, intrigued. "What would you play?"

A soft chuckle escapes her lips. "Anything and everything. Sometimes, it would be pieces I'd learned as a child; other times, I'd just... create. In those moments, there were no expectations, no Carter legacy looming over me. Just pure, unadulterated freedom."

A memory flashes through my mind—the memorial for her father, where I'd caught a glimpse of Sophia seated at a piano, lost in her own world. The raw emotion in her eyes then, the way her fingers moved gracefully across the keys.

“I'd like to hear you play again,” I admit.

She raises an eyebrow, a hint of surprise evident. “You've heard me once already.”

“Yes, but that was a tribute to your father. Next time you play, I want it to be for me.”

We continue our conversation, every topic unveiling another layer of her personality, a depth that I'd sorely underestimated. From her passion for the foundation to the subtle challenges she faces navigating the society she was born into, Sophia surprises me at every turn.

Some time later, our plates are cleared, and couples start moving to the dance floor. I extend my hand to her. “Care to dance?”

She seems to consider it for a moment, her eyes darting to the dance floor and then back to me. "With you?" she teases.

“Who better to show you off than your fiance?”

Sophia laughs, placing her hand in mine. "Alright, Thorn, let's see what you've got."

Taking our first steps onto the dancefloor, everything but Sophia fades into the background. The feel of her hand, soft yet firm in mine, anchors me to the moment. The intoxicating blend of her perfume, a mix of jasmine and something wilder, hits me, pushing every thought to the back of my mind.

The orchestra delves into a waltz, the rhythm captivating and demanding. Our movements are perfectly synchronized, her fluid grace complementing my decisive steps. She fits against me like she's made to be there, her every curve a testament to that.

With every turn, her warmth draws me in. Her breath, slightly uneven, fans against my neck, sending a shiver down my spine. The orchestra might dictate the rhythm around us, but the one between us, the push and pull, is all our own.

The music slows, the notes dripping with sensuality. Instinctively, my grip tightens, drawing her in. Her lashes cast shadows on her cheeks, and her lips, slightly parted, are a temptation I find hard to resist.

Just as our lips are about to seal the silent promise building between us, the song concludes, jolting us back to the present. We stand there for a heartbeat before Lord Farthington, a name synonymous with ancient money and entitled arrogance, saunters toward us, a smirk curling his thin lips.

"Thorn," he greets, that one word dripping with condescension. "I must say, it's surprising to see someone of your background gracing such an event."

Sophia's grip on my arm tightens subtly, a silent plea to let the comment slide. But years of fighting for respect have honed my reactions, making it near impossible to let such slights go unchecked.

"Lord Farthington," I reply, matching his tone with a dangerous edge. "I go where I please."

Farthington's eyes shift towards Sophia, the sly insinuation clear. "Of course, with the right company, even the hardest of doors swing open."

Before I can rein in my temper, words fly out. "Speaking of doors, perhaps you've heard the bank's about to close a few on the Carter estate. It's rather generous of me, don't you think, to extend a helping hand when others have turned their backs? Especially when the Carters are in such dire need."

Sophia's sharp intake of breath is almost drowned out by the music, but to me, it's deafening. The raw hurt in her eyes is unmistakable, and I instantly realize the gravity of my blunder.

Sophia, her poise never faltering, coolly responds, "It was a pleasure, Lord Farthington."

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