Page 42 of The Encore’s Crown

“Nat—” I try, but she’s already leaning in, breath sweet with sake and heartbreak, kissing me like she wants to fast-forward the entire concept. For one completely stupid second, I give in and my need takes over. My hands grip her hips. My body answers her before my brain can intervene, seeking the friction we're both chasing, pressing into her as we both stifle a moan. I want her.

Fuck, do I want her.

Then she hiccups. Right in the middle of trying to undo my belt. A startled, squeaky sound, and both of us freeze. Her eyes widen and I choke out a laugh. She tries to glare but ends up laughing too, forehead falling against my shoulder.

The moment breaks just enough for me to get my head back. I move fast, pretending I’m just adjusting our position and in one smooth motion I grab her by the waist, roll her, and lay her on her back against the cushions. She lands with a soft bounce, blinking at me like I’ve teleported her by magic.

Before she can latch onto me again, I slide back, lift her legs, place her feet gently on my thighs, and pull the blanket over her like she’s a drunk princess I’m tucking into bed. She giggles, warm and loose, still absolutely wasted.

Thank God.

Maybe the room will spin enough that she doesn’t try to climb me again. I lean in close, sweeping hair off her forehead. Her eyes flutter, heavy but adoring, the kind of look that could destroy a man if he’s not careful.

“I don’t take advantage of sad, drunk women,” I murmur, brushing my thumb along her temple. “Even when they look this fucking hot and smell so good it’s making me stupid.”

She arches a brow, the drunkest little challenge I’ve ever seen. I shake my head, laughing on the surface, but dying underneath, that face is too much to survive.

“You have no idea how hard it is to say no to you.” I exhale through my nose, looking her over like that might somehow help. It doesn’t. “I don’t know what the hell your mom ate while she was pregnant, but hell. I’ve dated supermodels who didn’t come close.”

Something sparks in her eyes at that. Maybe jealousy, definitely pride, something intense and molten but it flickers out just as fast as the alcohol pulls her under again. Her chin lifts like she’s about to deliver some cutting, flirtatious comeback… and then she’s gone. Fast asleep. The bright lights of Tokyo flash across her sleeping face, melting everything that’s already thawing in me.

I can breathe again and fix the belt she almost undid. Fasten what she loosened. I get myself put back together just as the bus slows to a stop. Natalia doesn’t stir. I sit there, staring at her, knowing the night just rewired me in ways I have no idea how to walk back from.

She’s dead weight when I cradle her in my arms, a groggy noise escaping. I feel every curve of her, every breath against my collarbone as I carry her down the bus steps. The hallway to the rooms is quiet, the plush white carpet is thankfully muted, ambient lighting in even rows above us. Natalia’s head lolls on my shoulder, and her fingers hold onto my neck loosely. Kasia jogs ahead to unlock her room, Rafe hangs back to give us room.

“Here, set her down, let me get the lights.”

“No,” Natalia mutters, though she’s barely conscious. “Bright.”

Kasia flicks on only the entry light, dim enough that shadows soften the room into something safe. I carry her to the bed, ease her down gently, and she sighs peacefully when her head touches the pillow.

Kasia hovers. “Do you need help getting her settled?”

Before I can answer, Natalia squints one eye open. “Go away.”

It’s not rude. It’s just the truth of a drunk, grieving girl who doesn’t want witnesses to whatever might leak out of her. I understand her in more ways than I care to admit.

Kasia hesitates, concerned, but Natalia swats a hand vaguely in the air.

“I’m fine. Go be with Rafe. Love you, siostra,” she mumbles.

Kasia exhales, touches her shoulder, then looks at me.

"I'll get her tucked in, then I'll head back to mine. We've all got a busy day tomorrow." I offer the truth, whether she believes me or not is a roll of the dice.

There’s a question in her eyes, something between trust and fear, but she nods. She places Natalia's shoes gently by the bed before she steps into the hallway. The door clicks softly shut. I breathe out, long and quiet. Natalia is sprawled across the bed now, hair a golden mess, dress rucked up, cheeks flushed from drinking and crying and being braver than anyone should have to be.

It’s just us now. I try to focus on practical things, like grabbing the hotel blanket from the closet, shaking it out. Something normal. Something that doesn’t require me to confront the warmth growing inside my chest. I drape the blanket over her, smoothing it over her shoulder. She rolls, murmuring something I can’t hear. I take a step back toward the door, attempting to sneak out now that I've done what I promised.

“Kiri?”

It’s barely a sound, a breath wrapped in my name. I stop cold. Her eyes are half-open, glassy but pleading.

“Hold me.”

My throat closes. I don’t move, don’t breathe. Then she blinks, fighting through the haze, and whispers again, more certain this time. “Like on the bus. Please? I don't want to be alone."

That tears me open and I let go of the door handle, then turn off the last light and cross the room before I can talk myself out of it. I slide onto the bed beside her, carefully, gently, like she’s made of glass. She curls into me instantly, face against my chest, arms tucked against me. Mine find their way around her and hold her steady until I feel her relax into sleep.