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The party was loud.
Too loud.
It reeked of expensive perfume and desperation, and Clorinde wanted absolutely nothing to do with it. Her body still buzzed with adrenaline from the race she’d just won—not because she cared about the victory, but because someone had promised to kiss her silly if she finished under two minutes.
But that someone was currently surrounded by paparazzi, stylists, dancers, and her own glimmering entourage.
Navia was across the room, sparkling in a champagne-gold, backless dress, a flute in hand and a crowd of admirers laughing at every quip she made. Her lips were stained berry red, her earrings glittered like stars, and the slight rasp in her voice every time she laughed made Clorinde ache.
But she wasn’t about to bother her. Not when Navia was in her element. Not when—
“Clorinde, right?” a husky voice said, low and flirtatious.
Clorinde blinked, slowly turning her head from where she’d been thumbing through her pocket-sized copy of The Count of Monte Cristo, perched quietly on one of the patio’s velvet couches. “...Yes.”
The woman in front of her was loud. Bright purple hair in a high ponytail, lips painted almost black, stilettos that looked more like weapons than shoes. She was taller than Navia, certainly curvier, and—Clorinde recognized her face now—she was a popstar who had just gone platinum a week ago. She was also leaning just a little too close.
“I’ve seen you before. You're a racer right? That rooftop race in the rain?” Her lashes fluttered. “You were real sexy.”
Clorinde blinked once.
“I was driving.”
“Mmhmm. And hot while doing it,” she purred, dragging a red-nailed finger over the edge of Clorinde’s book. “I like a girl who can multitask. So serious. So quiet. You must be amazing in bed.”
Clorinde finally shut the book. “I wouldn’t know. I’m currently busy being left on read by my girlfriend.”
“Oh?” she grinned. “Trouble in paradise?”
Clorinde raised a brow. “Only if you count being popular as a crisis.”
The popstar chuckled, undeterred. “Then maybe she wouldn’t mind if you came over to my place tonight.”
Before Clorinde could respond, the sliding glass door to the patio flew open, the music from inside crashing through like a wave.
There she was.
Navia.
Her hair slightly tousled. One strap of her gown slipping from her shoulder. Her expression—sweet, gorgeous, and absolutely thunderous.
The crowd had been too much. The laughter, the forced smiles, the cameras. But the moment she’d turned and seen some other woman leaning close to Clorinde, her instincts kicked in like a stage spotlight flicked straight into her heart.
Clorinde, predictably, looked... bored. Not annoyed. Not flustered. Just mildly inconvenienced, like the other woman was interrupting her book club.
Navia marched straight over, grabbing Clorinde’s wrist and pulling her up from the seat with zero grace.
“Hi,” Navia smiled at the other popstar, saccharine and sharp. “She’s taken. Thanks.”
Clorinde let herself be dragged wordlessly, book tucked under one arm.
They didn’t stop walking until they reached Navia’s dressing room, two floors down, behind a locked door where no one could follow.
The silence stretched.
Navia folded her arms, her cheeks flushed. “You were going to let her flirt with you.”
“I was reading.”
“She touched your book.”
“She interrupted my reading.”
“You didn’t even look bothered.”
Clorinde sat on the dressing table, calm as ever. “Because I wasn’t. I was waiting for you to come get me.”
Navia blinked. “You were what?”
Clorinde held up her book. “You said you'd find me after the party. I assumed you’d be late. You usually are.”
Navia narrowed her eyes. “She hit on you.”
“I know.”
“She was pretty.”
Clorinde tilted her head. “Do you think I care?”
Navia opened her mouth, closed it, then fidgeted with one of her rings. “You didn’t say no.”
“I didn’t say yes either.”
Silence.
Then Clorinde stood, slow and deliberate, closing the space between them. She cupped Navia’s face, careful not to smudge her makeup, and looked at her like no one else existed.
“I have a race in three days,” Clorinde said quietly. “And I’m planning to win it. Not for the trophy. Not for the fans. But because you promised to kiss me if I did.”
Navia’s breath caught.
“You think I care about strangers touching my book when the only reward I want is you?”
Her arms slowly wrapped around Navia’s waist, drawing her closer until Navia melted into her like instinct.
“You... idiot,” Navia whispered, voice tight, “You should’ve told her off.”
“She wasn’t important enough to deserve words.” Clorinde kissed her cheek. “You were always going to come for me.”
Navia shoved her gently. “Don’t sound so smug.”
Clorinde smirked, just slightly. “You’re the one dragging me away like a jealous girlfriend.”
“I am your girlfriend!”
“Exactly.”
And then, finally, Navia kissed her—slow, possessive, smug in a way that rivaled even Clorinde’s calm, because she won, she got her, and no one else even had a chance.