One Night in Valeria - Chapter 50: Chapter 50

The night before their launch, the studio was quiet.
Too quiet.
No interview lights. No last-minute interns rushing with garment bags. Just them.
Alone.
Liam sat on the floor, his back against the wall, sketchbook tossed aside. Jessica paced barefoot across the wood floor, the hem of her slip dress whispering against her thighs.
They were both wired.
Wired, waiting… burning.
“Tomorrow,” he said finally, voice husky. “The first real show we own. No Conservatory. No press puppets. Just us.”
Jessica stopped in front of him, her silhouette soft in the overhead light.
“I’m tired of waiting for everything,” she whispered.
He looked up, startled. “Jessica —”
She dropped to her knees in front of him, her palms on his chest.
“No more pretending this tension doesn’t exist. No more polite ‘goodnights’ when we both want more.”
Liam’s throat worked hard. “Are you sure?”
Her lips brushed his jaw. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
And that’s when the dam broke.
His hands found her waist, pulled her into his lap, lips crashing against hers with all the heat they’d both been swallowing for months. Her fingers fisted in his shirt, pulling it over his head. He tasted like cinnamon and ink, and she wanted more needed more.
She kissed him like she was starving.
And he let her.
She straddled him, her slip falling from one shoulder, silk sliding down like spilled desire. He pushed it lower, kissing the slope of her neck, the rise of her breast, until she gasped.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured against her skin.
Her nails dug into his back.
“You’re late.”
He chuckled a low, broken sound and pushed her gently down onto the studio’s plush bench, kissing a path from her collarbone to her navel.
Her moan echoed through the empty room.
There was no rush. Only reverence.
They peeled each other apart, layer by layer, learning every sigh, every shiver. His mouth was a vow; her body, an answer.
And when they finally gave in completely it wasn’t desperate.
It was honest.
It was earned.
Later, tangled in a mess of limbs and laughter, Jessica lay with her head on his chest, her fingers drawing lazy patterns over his ribs.
“This doesn’t scare you?” she asked quietly. “Being this close?”
He kissed her hair.
“Everything scares me when it comes to you. But walking away terrifies me more.”
She smiled, eyes fluttering closed.
“Then stay.”
“I already have.”
But just as dawn broke, a knock echoed through the studio’s side entrance.
Liam pulled on a shirt and opened the door cautiously.
A tall man stood there salt-and-pepper hair, tan coat, eyes full of history.
“Can I help you?” Liam asked.
The man held out an envelope.
“I’m looking for Jessica Hale. My name is Rene Andor. I was Klara’s lawyer… and her executor.”
Liam froze.
The name was familiar.
Klara’s real will.
The one that had never been found.
The man smiled sadly.
“It’s time she knew everything.”