Page 12 of Ava After Midnight (Chaos and Chemistry #2)

Chapter Twelve

DOMINGO

C haos unfolds before me like a twisted but well-rehearsed routine, each movement hitting with precision, each gasp from the crowd another note in the symphony of destruction. My entrance was just the overture—Mateo and the others are already in position, scattered through the pews, waiting for Zoe’s signal.

Matthew steps forward, all controlled rage and expensive cologne. “This is a private ceremony?—”

“Private like the secrets you keep?” I smirk, reveling in the way his eyes widen. “Or private like the marks I left on your bride last night?”

The reaction is instantaneous. Gasps ripple through the church, someone audibly chokes, and Matthew’s mother clutches her pearls so hard I almost expect them to break.

But my eyes never leave Ava.

She’s radiant even in shock, her lips parted, her entire body humming with tension. She’s still standing where I left her—next to him. But her fingers twitch at her sides, like she wants to reach for something else.

For me.

Zoe moves first, her hand darting to her phone. My heartbeat stutters. Showtime.

“Security!” Matthew barks, but he’s already too late.

The first notes of Earned It swell through the sacred space—not The Weeknd’s version. The classical arrangement. The one I spent the entire morning orchestrating this, ensuring every note, every movement, was flawlessly timed. The string quartet, already seated, doesn’t miss a beat—because they’re not just any musicians.

They’re mine. Zoe’s help, a few well-placed calls, a generous donation, and a little persuasion ensured the original quartet was swapped for my people. Professionals who know exactly when to play and, more importantly, when to shift the rhythm of a moment.

“What the hell is going on?” Matthew’s mother shrieks, her voice shrill over the violins.

Movement. From the pews.

One dancer rises.

Then another.

And another.

Mateo catches my eye near the front, that familiar pre-performance electricity crackling between us. The strings build, the arrangement weaving seduction into every note, and suddenly, Ava isn’t at a wedding anymore.

She’s inside a dream.

“You told me your dreams were too wild for his world,” I murmur, stepping forward as the first dancer moves into formation. “Let me show you how beautiful the wild can be.”

The bass drops.

The classical arrangement shatters into the full version, deep and sensual, the kind of rhythm that sinks into the skin. Dancers flood the aisle, moving with the same passion that first drew Ava to me in that club. Controlled chaos. A love letter written in movement.

Ava’s breath hitches. Her fingers curl at her sides, fists clenching in the fabric of her dress.

“Oh my God,” she whispers, eyes locked on the dancers as the choreography unfolds. Our story. The way we circled each other at the bar, the heat of our first dance, the storm that changed everything.

“This is inappropriate!” Matthew’s mother tries again, but even she can’t look away. Not when Mateo leads a sequence that makes several older women fan themselves.

I step closer, my voice low enough for only Ava to hear. “You know what’s inappropriate? Trying to cage a woman who was born to fly.”

The music shifts—bachata bleeding into hip hop bleeding into classical, just like Ava’s own playlist. My company moves through the sacred space like liquid desire, turning this perfect little country-club ceremony into something untamed and alive.

“This is what passion looks like,” I tell her, stopping just close enough to see the rapid rise and fall of her breath. “This is what you do to me. Make me want to create beauty just to match what I see in your eyes.”

Her chest rises, falls, her lips parting, but no sound comes out.

She feels it.

Around us, the dancers weave a story of heat and defiance. Mateo leads a sequence that makes the younger guests pull out their phones, while the security guards Matthew summoned remain mysteriously absent—Zoe’s handiwork, no doubt.

Matthew turns, wild-eyed, but no one moves to stop the performance. To stop me.

“You can end this now,” I say, my voice carrying. “Or you can admit what we both know.”

I extend my hand to Ava.

“That real love isn’t a business merger. It’s a dance.”

The music swells, reaching its crescendo, and I see it—the war inside her. The fire. The hunger.

She takes a breath.

“I can’t marry you, Matthew.”

The church erupts.

Hope blooms, sharp and dangerous inside me?—

But then?—

“And Domingo...”

She steps away from both of us. And my world stills.

“I can’t marry you either.”

The confession slams into me. Around us, the dancers freeze in formation, but I feel Mateo’s sharp glance, the unsaid question hanging in the air.

“This is...” Ava swallows, something like a laugh escaping her lips. “This is beautiful. Insane. Perfect. But I met you yesterday.”

“Ava—” I start, but she lifts a hand.

“Let me finish.”

She turns to Matthew. “I’ve been hiding—or maybe just blind to—what a controlling narcissist you are for too many years. Making myself smaller, quieter, more ‘appropriate’ for your world.”

Matthew’s face is pure rage, his jaw tight as whispers ripple through the crowd.

“And you,” she faces me again, eyes full of mischief now. “You crashed my wedding with a flash mob and the sexiest choreography this church has ever seen.”

My heart slams against my ribs.

“I can’t marry you,” she repeats, steps closer, and I catch the faintest trace of her perfume. Familiar. Mine.

“But I’d very much like to get to know you.”

Relief and desire crash through me like a storm.

Her hands find my chest, fingers toying with my tie, straightening it with deliberate slowness. Testing me. Teasing.

A slow grin spreads across my lips. “Dancing in the storm?”

“Well,” she breathes, eyes flicking up to mine, “I seem to remember you promising to teach me every kind of dance.”

“Ava Marie Williams!” Her mother’s voice cuts through the tension. “You cannot be serious?—”

“Actually,” Ava’s grip tightens on my tie, her voice rich with confidence, “I’ve never been more serious in my life.”

Matthew lets out a bitter laugh. “That’s your grand revelation? Trading your future for a bartender with a dance fetish?”

Before I can speak, Mateo does.

“Bartender?” He steps forward, adjusting his cuffs. “My best friend owns that bar, you idiot.”

The punch happens so fast that even I barely catch it. Matthew crumples.

Jade claps, still looking a little green. “Well, that was much better than sex.”

Ava looks at me, at the wedding she’s leaving behind, and grins. Wicked. Free.

“Fuck it,” she breathes. “Let’s go make some thunder.”

I take her hand, twining my fingers through hers, but before we leave, she stops. The entire church watches, breathless, as she lifts her left hand and—without hesitation—slides off the engagement ring. The platinum band, once a symbol of the life she was supposed to have, hits the marble floor with a hollow clink.

Matthew stares at it, at her, his mouth opening like he has something to say. A desperate, final grasp for control. But Ava doesn’t even spare him a glance. She doesn’t owe him closure.

He’s already forgotten.

Ava exhales slowly, shoulders relaxing as if she’s been carrying a weight she didn’t even realize. Finally, she exhales, a slow, measured release of the weight she carried for too long. Her eyes lift to mine, a spark of mischief glinting beneath the finality.

"Let’s get the fuck out of here."

The Miami sun hits my face, but it’s her smile that warms me from the inside out.

"Where to, princesa ?" I murmur against her hair, relishing the way she shivers at my touch.

Her eyes sparkle with mischief and promise. "Anywhere with you."

Behind us, Mateo’s low chuckle reaches my ears. I glance back to see him leaning close to Jade, his hand grazing her lower back in a move I know too well.

"Looks like I’m not the only one with plans to dance in the storm," I say, tilting my head toward the new couple.

Ava follows my gaze, her grin turning wicked as she takes in their flirtatious body language. "After her messy divorce, she deserves it... I’m happy for her."

I can’t help but laugh at that, pulling her closer to my side. "Can’t say I blame them. I’ve been looking at you the same way since last night."

She rises on her toes to whisper in my ear, her breath hot against my skin. "Then why are we still talking?"

Heat floods my veins at her boldness, and I barely resist the urge to take her right there on the church steps. But I have plans for my almost-bride, and they don’t involve traumatizing the clergy.

"Car. Now." I growl, nipping at her earlobe before leading us to the waiting limo.

As we slide into the plush backseat, I catch a glimpse of Mateo opening the passenger door of his Aston Martin for Jade, his smile promising all sorts of sin. Attaboy , I think with a grin. Seize that happiness with both hands.

All at once, Ava’s fingers are in my hair, her lips on my neck, and any sort of coherent thought becomes a distant memory.

"I believe you promised me a week of dancing," she purrs, her touch unleashing wildfires beneath my skin. "And I’m ready for my first lesson."

I seize her wandering hands, pinning them above her head as I press her back into the butter-soft leather seats. "Patience, mi amor ." I barely recognize my own voice, rough with need. "Good things come to those who wait."

Her eyes flash, a silent challenge. "And if I’m tired of waiting? Of being good?"

I crush my mouth to hers in response, kissing her with all the pent-up hunger and passion of the past twenty-four hours. She opens for me instantly, her tongue dancing with mine in a tango as old as time.

I pour everything into that kiss—every filthy promise, every dirty fantasy, every desperate dream of a future I never dared to imagine before her. She meets me breath for breath, arching into me until I can’t tell where she ends and I begin.

When oxygen becomes a necessity, I tear my lips from hers, trailing open-mouthed kisses down the column of her throat. She tosses her head back with a breathy moan, giving me better access to the sensitive skin there.

"Domingo," she gasps as I find the spot just below her ear that makes her shudder. "Please..."

I slow my assault, pulling back just far enough to meet her glazed eyes. My blood thrums in my veins at the naked desire I find there, hot and heavy enough to drown in.

"Please what, princesa ?" I force my voice to calm, even as my hands itch to map every curve of her body beneath her stuffy white wedding gown. "Use your words."

Her tongue darts out to wet kiss-swollen lips, and it takes every shred of self-control not to chase it with my own.

"I want..." She seems to struggle to string the sentence together, her brain as hazy with lust as mine. "I want you to show me how good we can be together. No more holding back."

My heart clenches at the trembling vulnerability beneath the brazen request. This incredible woman, so brave and fierce and achingly honest. I want to give her everything, lay the whole world at her feet.

Starting with every scrap of pleasure her body can handle.

I bend my head to murmur against her lips, a binding vow. "I’m going to spend the next week worshipping every inch of you, mi alma. Making you forget any touch but mine. Shattering you so completely that the only name you remember is the one you scream when you come undone in my arms."

Her shudder of anticipation rolls through us both, and I feel her thighs clench around my hips. "Promises, promises," she breathes, her fingers flexing where I still have them pinned.

I tighten my grip, savoring her sharp inhale. " Nunca prometo algo que no puedo cumplir. " I never make promises I can’t keep.

The Spanish falls from my lips like honey, sweet and thick with intent. Her eyes flutter shut as she breathes something that sounds like "holy fuck," and I smile against her skin.

"Buckle up, princesa ." I release her hands to reach for the privacy screen, my other hand hiking her dress higher on her thighs. "I hope you’re ready for the ride of your life."

As our passion separates us from the rest of the world, I know with bone-deep certainty that this is just the beginning. The beginning of something raw and real and so much bigger than either of us.

The beginning of forever, if I have anything to say about it.

But first, I have a honeymoon suite to defile and a whole lot of wicked promises to keep to the woman who’s stolen my heart and saved my soul in one fell swoop.

Nunca me sentí tan vivo.

I’ve never felt so alive.

With that thought, I surrender to the need pulsing between us and set about proving to Ava with hands, lips, and body that the only dance that matters is the one we make together.