Page 11 of A Secret Escape

T he invitation had said “black tie,” which obviously meant that Angela and I spent hours shopping to find the perfect thing to wear. I was thrilled with the floor-length glittery black gown I found, and for half the amount I’d planned to spend.

As we step into the lobby of The Midland Hotel, I immediately feel out of place, as though I’ve wandered onto the set of a period drama and someone’s about to ask me what I’m doing here.

“Stop fidgeting,” Angela hisses beside me, looking completely at ease in a fitted red gown that makes her look like she belongs on a red carpet. “You look amazing.”

We step through the doors into the ballroom, and I’m momentarily stunned. Women in sweeping floor-length gowns float across the space, and men in crisp tuxedos mill about, champagne flutes in hand. The air smells of expensive perfume and polished marble.

Angela grabs two flutes of champagne from a passing server, handing one to me. I take a grateful sip, the bubbles dancing on my tongue.

“Is it always this fancy?” I ask.

“Apparently, this is scaled back. I heard the last one, they hired out the Victoria Baths and turned the old pool into an orchestra pit. Stephen was saying how they’re ‘keeping it modest’ this year as it’s the first one post-pandemic.”

My eyes widen. “This is modest?”

The Midland is one of the most exclusive hotels in the city, with chandeliers that probably cost more than my annual salary and soaring pillars that make you feel like you’ve stepped into a palace.

A warm glow filters in through the tall windows, washing over round tables draped in ivory linens.

A violinist plays in the corner, and at one end, glass doors open onto a balcony with what I assume must be a spectacular view of the city skyline.

And then I see him.

He’s standing by the far wall, deep in conversation with Amanda Kline, the VP of Client Development.

Even from a distance, he’s impossible to miss.

His tux fits him perfectly - sharp lapels, broad shoulders, one hand tucked in his pocket like he doesn’t even know how arresting he looks.

His hair is swept back neatly, though a single strand falls onto his forehead, softening the clean lines of his face.

As if sensing my gaze, he glances up. Our eyes lock for a split second – just long enough to make my heart lurch. Then he gives the slightest nod, professional but personal, and focuses his attention back to his conversation.

“God, you’re doing that thing again,” Angela says at my side.

“What thing?”

“The dreamy, borderline-obsessive eye-lasering. Honestly, Lila. Just fucking talk to him already.”

“I’m just looking,” I mumble.

“Looking,” she repeats with a smirk, raising an eyebrow.

I roll my eyes, but I can’t help them drifting back towards him anyway. He shifts slightly, gesturing with one hand as he speaks, relaxed but deliberate. It’s maddening how composed he always is. Like the chaos of the room just bends politely around him.

“Well, if it makes you feel better, I think Carter might combust,” Angela mutters. “Look.”

I follow her gaze toward the bar. Carter is leaning against it, drink untouched in his hand, nervously twisting the stem of his glass. Harrison stands in front of him – confident and sharp. They’re talking, but it’s quieter than the conversations around them. Closer.

Harrison says something and Carter laughs – that real, surprised laugh that crinkles his eyes. Their fingers brush – delicate, uncertain. Harrison’s hand turns, palm up, waiting. And Carter… takes it.

They stand like that for a beat too long. Too intimate for a crowded room.

“Holy shit,” I whisper.

Angela nudges me. “Told you. I think they’re actually… like… not just a one-off thing.”

We watch as they murmur something to each other, then quietly slip away toward the corridor that leads to the restrooms. Harrison casts a quick glance over his shoulder before they disappear through the door marked Gentlemen.

“They’re so obvious,” Angela laughs. “I mean, I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but…”

“Oh, we’re jumping,” I say, grinning.

We clink glasses and sip.

My eyes flick back toward Marcus but find the space where he stood now empty. I scan the room but don’t see him.

“I’m going to get some air,” I say.

I make my way toward the glass doors leading to the balcony. A couple drifts inside just as I approach, leaving the outdoor space empty. I step out, the cool air washing over my skin as I lean against the railing, taking a deep breath.

The view is nothing short of magical. The city stretches out before me, lights twinkling like earthbound stars against the darkness. The soft lilt of the violin floats out through the open doors, delicate and haunting.

And all I can think about is Marcus. The way his voice drops when he’s talking to someone important.

The crinkle near his eyes when he smiles.

The way he smells of sandalwood and warmth and something expensive I’ll never be able to name.

The past year and a half of hallway glances, quiet mornings and tiny nothings.

The months of seeing him every day at the office, wondering if he might ever see me the same.

“Beautiful view.”

The voice behind me is low and rich, and it runs down my spine like silk.

I turn slowly to find Marcus standing in the doorway, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a short glass of something amber and smooth. The light from the ballroom casts him in gold, haloed and perfect.

But he’s not looking at the skyline.

He’s looking at me.

“You look incredible,” he says, taking a step closer. “I almost didn’t recognise you for a second.”

“Thank you,” I manage, my heart hammering against my ribs. “You look nice too.”

Nice? Really, Lila? The man looks like he’s just stepped out of a freaking Bond film and the best you can come up with is ‘nice’ ?

He smiles, soft and knowing, his eyes sweeping over me in a way that’s not just polite. It lingers. His gaze drops briefly to my lips, so quick I almost think I imagined it.

I smile, trying to stay grounded, though my knees threaten to give out.

He steps up beside me, resting one hand on the balcony railing. His shoulder brushes mine. Not quite touching. But almost.

“It’s strange,” he says, looking out over the city. “I’ve been coming to these galas for years, but this one feels… different.”

“I’ve heard it’s a lot smaller,” I offer, glancing up at him.

He smiles. “It is smaller, but it’s not just the numbers. I think I’m actually… noticing it for once.”

“Noticing what?”

He turns to me just slightly. “Everything. The lights. The music. The way people look at each other when they think no one’s watching.”

My breath catches and butterflies flutter in my chest.

“Usually, I’m so rushed off my feet at these things, I don’t get a minute to breathe,” he adds.

“You could always hide out here with me,” I say, surprised by the boldness in my own voice.

His mouth lifts at one corner, a playful gleam flickering in his eyes. “Tempting.”

I feel the warmth of his closeness, the air between us humming with the weight of everything we’re not quite saying.

He looks at me like he wants to say something else -

“Marcus.”

A woman’s voice cuts through the air, breaking the spell. We both turn to see Amanda, the VP he was talking to earlier, standing in the doorway, her expression apologetic but firm .

“Sorry to interrupt. They need you for the auction rundown.”

He straightens, his professional mask sliding back into place, but not before he gives me a soft smile that nearly breaks my heart.

“Of course,” he says, his voice crisp and businesslike. “I’ll catch you later, Lila.”

And just like that, he’s gone again.

Pulled back into his world. Back to the centre of the room, where the stars orbit him and I’m just another flicker on the edge of the sky.