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I let out a quiet chuckle as I pull back to look at her.

“No,” she insists, tugging me closer again, her fingers tightening in my hand. “Looking at me doesn’t help.”

That pulls more than a controlled laugh out of me, the kind that slips free before you can stop it. From the outside, we probably look exactly how we’re supposed to—close, playful, convincing.

A perfect illusion.

But then my gaze drifts back toward our table. And finds her.

For the first time tonight, Thalia’s looking straight at me. And there’s nothing soft about it.

“It’s already hard enough convincing myself I have to do it, Ethan,” Antonia murmurs, pulling my attention back to her. Her voice is soft, almost tentative. “You’ve always intimidated me.”

I’ve known Antonia for years. Our families have been intertwined through decades of business, and she’s been sitting in boardrooms with her father ever since she was big enough to reach the table.

“Antonia…” I begin, but she interrupts me.

“Let’s get this over with,” she says. I don’t have time to react, because she stops moving, and I have to halt as well.

Then, without hesitation, she cups my face in both hands, closes her eyes, and presses her lips to mine.

Instinctively, my hand tightens around her waist, keeping the distance between our bodies. Around us, the room erupts in applause and cheers.

But barely two seconds later, I pull away, slow and careful. Antonia opens her eyes, gazing up at me, cheeks flushed, expression shy but glowing.

“See? Nothing happened,” I say, my tone teasing.

For me, the performance is over. I offer my arm and gesture toward our table. She loops her arm through mine, and we weave through the crowd. Her voice drops close to my ear, trembling, “Speak for yourself, Ethan. I can barely stand from the nerves.”

The corner of my mouth lifts at that, though I suppress a laugh.

Back to the table, I pull out her chair, wait for her to settle, then take my own seat. Only one glance is enough to know Thalia’s chair is empty.

My pulse accelerates, but I don’t ask where she went. Drawing attention to myself would be a mistake. Bathroom? Wandering somewhere? Either is possible.

To the right, Zayn’s chair is vacant as well. No surprise there—he likely left with one of the women he’s been chatting with all night.

“Nice kiss,” Colt comments, irony sparking in his eyes. “Like two kindergartners pecking each other for the first time.”

“Fuck off, Colt,” I reply, dryly.

“Jesus, did it look that awkward?” Antonia asks softly. She knows the guys as well as she knows me.

“Relax, he’s just ribbing you,” Sierra reassures her. “It was convincing,” she adds, a subtle wink accompanying the words.

“Thank God,” Antonia breathes, her hand to her forehead. “I couldn’t do that again,” she admits, glancing at me from the corner of her eye. “I still can’t believe I kissed him. The man has intimidated me since the first meeting I attended with my dad.”

I watch her, quietly amused.

“I stopped going to meetings with my dad for a while because of him,” she continues, teasing yet pointed, a smile appearing on her mouth.

“Why?” Liam asks, intrigued.

“Because I couldn’t form a coherent sentence around him, and I was useless,” she confesses, pouting like a child. “I thought I’d outgrown that stage…” She pauses, then adds, “but I could barely keep my balance on that floor.”

Laughter bursts around the table, including from me, warm and natural.

The evening continues. A few guests attempt to corner me or my brothers about business, but Sierra intervenes quickly, and Antonia steps in once or twice, graceful and discreet.