After the gala, they retreated to a secluded corner of the garden, moonlight shimmering off the fountains. The world felt distant, their isolation absolute.
Julian's hand found hers, fingers entwining with a possessive firmness that made Liza's breath hitch. "You've done well tonight," he murmured, voice low and intimate.
She turned to him, eyes wide. "Have I?" she whispered, chest tight with anticipation and longing.
"Yes," he said, voice rough, edged with desire. He leaned in, and this time, their lips met—softly at first, then with a heat that had been building for days. Her hands moved instinctively to his chest, feeling the strong, steady pulse beneath the surface.
The kiss deepened, passion erupting in a controlled fury, but then he pulled back, just slightly, his lips brushing hers. "Not yet," he whispered, voice hoarse with need. "Not yet."
Liza shivered, frustration and desire coiling together. "When?" she asked breathlessly, needing the answer as much as the kiss itself.
He smiled, dark and knowing, his hand resting at the small of her back. "When you've learned to follow every rule… and when I know you're entirely mine."
The words hung in the night air, heavy with promise and restraint, leaving Liza aching and wanting, caught between surrender and anticipation.