Chapter 4

The air in the private nook of the event space was thick with the scent of stale champagne, dried autumn leaves, and the faint, metallic tang of anticipation. Outside, the late November wind whipped through the bare branches of the surrounding forest, sending skeletal leaves skittering across the gravel paths of the archery range. We were tucked away in a raised alcove near the rear exit, a semi-circle of wicker furniture and heavy velvet drapes that offered a semblance of privacy from the remaining stragglers of the gala. The hay bale targets from the daytime competition had been stacked up against the far wall, their rough, golden fibers contrasting sharply with the sleek, modern lighting of our secluded corner. It was a strange, rustic luxury, and it felt like a secret world we had built for just the two of us. I sat on the edge of a plush, cream-colored ottoman, my legs crossed at the knee, watching the way his chest rose and fell as he loosened his bow tie. He had shed his tuxedo jacket, the white shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the strong, veined forearms that had guided my hand so steadily earlier that