I had thought the handsome guy who had been watching me all night Nthando, as Simba had called him would approach me by now. He hadn't. So I ignored it. If he thought I was one of those girls who would approach him first, he had another thing coming.
We had drifted back into the heat of the house, eventually ending up at a table with some guys. Honestly, it was fun to loosen up a little. The person I ended up talking to wasn't like Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome, but he was cute and good company and for now, that was enough.
Eventually, the noise and the shisha smoke became a weight I needed to shed. I stepped out onto the balcony to take a call, and the night air immediately brushed against my skin with a crisp, Borrowdale chill. Harare looked different from up here; the streets below glimmered with streetlights reflecting off puddles from an earlier rain, the city humming quietly beneath the muffled bass of the house. The cold nipped at my bare arms, but it was oddly refreshing a sharp, silver contrast to the gold-lit chaos inside.
I hadn't noticed him approach until he was there. Nthando.
He was leaning casually against the railing, one hand in his pocket, the other resting lightly on the cold stone. From up close, he was even more imposing handsome in a way that made the pulse in my neck speed up against my will. I kept my voice steady, continuing my call as if the most powerful man in the room weren't standing three feet away.
Finally, I ended the call and tucked my phone into my bag, forcing my fingers to stop their slight trembling.
"Enjoying yourself?" he asked. His voice was a low, smooth rumble that cut through the soft rustle of the wind.
I lifted an eyebrow, crossing my arms against the breeze. "Depends. Are you asking because you care, or because you're trying to make small talk?"
He smirked, a slow, confident curve of his lips that made my stomach twist. "A little of both. But mostly because I like watching people who are impossible to read."
"Impossible to read?" I echoed, letting the cold bite of the night seep into my skin. "I'm not impossible. I just… don't hand myself out freely to strangers who lurk in shadows all night."
"I'm not a stranger anymore," he said, stepping just slightly closer. He was close enough now that I could feel the heat radiating off him, a violent contrast to the night air. "I know your name. I know what you're wearing. And I've been trying to figure out if you're actually as composed as you look, or if that bronze dress is just a suit of armor."
I went still for a heartbeat, the wind whipping a strand of hair across my lips. I pulled it back slowly, my eyes narrowing.
"Armor?" I echoed, a dry, knowing smile tugging at my mouth. "That's funny. Your friend Simba used that exact same word at the bar ten minutes ago."
I took a deliberate step toward him, closing the gap until the scent of his sandalwood cologne was the only thing I could breathe. "It looks like someone's been talking about me. Should I be flattered that I'm the topic of conversation in the VIP lounge, or should I be worried that you two have a script?"
He didn't flinch. If anything, his smirk deepened, turning into something more genuine—and much more dangerous.
"Simba has a habit of oversharing my thoughts," Nthando admitted, his voice dropping an octave. "But the 'armor' theory? That was all mine. He was just the one brave enough to test the waters first."
I let out a dry laugh, the wind catching it and carrying it toward the dark garden below. "Well, you're no psychic. And my armor is fully functional, thank you very much."
He tilted his head, eyes locking on mine, reflecting the city lights like dark glass. "Maybe. But even the best armor can have a crack or two."
I met his gaze steadily. "And if it does?"
"Then I'll be the first to notice," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
The city lights below twinkled like distant stars, the chill around us sharpening every heartbeat. For a moment, the music inside faded into nothing. It was just him, the balcony, and the cold.
"You're awfully confident for someone who's been silently staring at me all evening," I teased, brushing a strand of hair from my face as a gust made the bronze silk cling to my skin.
"Confidence has its uses," he said softly. "But I promise… I'm not here to make things uncomfortable. Not unless you want me to."
I shook my head, a small smile tugging at my lips despite the chill. "Don't get used to it. You might like me too much."
"Too late," he said, giving me that enigmatic wink that made my chest tighten.
The chill of the night couldn't touch the heat between us. Up here, with the garden sprawling beneath us and the cold pressing against my skin, I realized something: I didn't want to ignore him anymore.