Elara's POV,
"Kiss him, Elara."
We both freeze, and Lucien recovers first. He clears his throat, takes my hand from my lap, and kisses it in front of them.
"It's all up to my wife here." He smirks, looking right at me. "She doesn't exactly like public display of affection."
"No. Kiss her, or I take this matter into court." Camille slams her hand on the table. "And trust me, I never lose a case."
Lucien raises a brow, "What? So you don't trust your friend to tell you the truth?"
"I don't trust anyone. In fact, I'm pretty sure Elara's lied about a lot, including her past." She says, avoiding my eyes, and I blink. "But this? I won't rest until I'm sure she is safe."
"Same. There's hardly anyone here." Noemi chimes in. "You booked the entire restaurant."
My eyes flicker everywhere, and Lucien gives me a weird look. He probably thinks I'm overreacting. It's just a kiss, after all. I mean, in his mind, I've had a husband. But no…
No, because…I've kissed him before. He obviously cannot remember me, but I do. The night of the library, I remember vividly. I remember I loved his kiss. I can't kiss him…it's wrong for all reasons!
"Elara…" I look up to him, and to my surprise, his eyes were gentle. He bends closer to whisper, "...we don't have to do this, you know?"
"You don't know them." I grit out. "This is all…"
"My fault, I know." He completes, and my eyes meet his again. I gulp and exhale loudly.
"It's just a kiss."
"Just a kiss, Cara."
Before I change my mind, I crash my lip against his.
Lucien's POV,
It's been five, six years, I think. It's been years since I looked and searched everywhere for her. Soft lips, urgent tongue, a body pressing close in the shadows. It lingers in my dreams, unclaimed. The woman in the Virelli's mansion. I'd never felt such an obsession for anything. All my life, I've had all that I've ever wanted. If I wanted an island, all I had to do was make a few calls, and it was mine.
But I've never wanted something so close, yet so far away. Elara Virelli had been docile in a way that wasn't submission but restraint. She listened more than she spoke. When she did speak, it was precise and intelligent. Her eyes didn't challenge me, yet they missed nothing. Shy, yes, but not ignorant. As if she had learned early that the world punished girls who took up too much space.
When she stood close to me, she trembled slightly. Not with fear of me, but with the weight of the choice she was making.
That girl felt like a secret.
The woman I have now is nothing like her.
Elara Solis looks me in the eye like she's daring me to blink first. She speaks like a blade drawn halfway, sharp enough to warn. There is nothing docile or shy about her. She challenges me openly, questions my authority, resents my presence, and refuses to be reduced by it. She stands straight even when cornered. Especially then.
Where the girl in the library waits, this woman pushes back. Where the girl lowered her gaze, this one lifts her chin. And where the girl whispered curiosity, this one demands answers.
I spent years convincing myself that the one I searched for lived only in memory. That the one I married was a problem I had to manage.
And then she looks at me now, defiant and furious, and all my allegations shatter at once.
She doesn't pull away; surprise roots me in place for a while, her mouth opening slightly to brush her tongue against my lower lip. It's reluctant on her end, a forced compliance, but the contact ignites something primal. My hand instinctively rises to her arm, fingers curling around the warmth of her skin through the blouse sleeve, holding her steady. She deepens it despite herself, her tongue slipping past my lips to stroke mine in a slow, exploratory glide that sends heat pooling in my groin. Her breath hitches, warm against my cheek, and I taste the hesitation mixed with an undercurrent of fire, her lips parting wider, sucking gently on my tongue as if to draw out a response.
The kiss builds against my will, her free hand fisting the fabric of my shirt over my abdomen, knuckles brushing the ridge of muscle there. I respond, tilting my head to capture her mouth more fully, my tongue thrusting against hers in firm, deliberate laps that make her stiffen then soften. She moans faintly into the kiss, the sound vibrating through me, her tongue now tangling with mine in wet, insistent circles, even as her body tenses with inner conflict.
My other hand finds her waist, thumb tracing the curve under her blouse, feeling the heat of her skin. She nips at my lip sharply (punishment or provocation?) before soothing it with a slow suck, her mouth devouring mine with growing fervor she can't quite suppress.
Her friends probably watch in stunned silence, but it blurs away.
Finally, she wrenches back, almost with force, lips red and slick, chest heaving as she glares at me. She turns to look at them, to tell them something. But I can't keep my eyes away.
I have spent five years searching for the one Elara, and during those five years, I've met over a hundred Elaras and over a million redheads. None of them was her. As I stare, I suddenly think about it. I never asked about Solis' past. I never asked how she even met me. How exactly did I sleep with a woman I can't remember? How do I have a five-year old child with her, and why didn't she tell me? All her excuses were what they were. Excuses.
My mind spirals as I slowly come to ask myself the question…
Who is Elara Solis?