Grayson observed Alison as she covered her ears, shutting herself off from the world and disregarding his questions. Fine! Why should I care what happens? Grayson huffed to himself.
Alison's smile suggested that Grayson had given up, but then she abruptly stood up from the table, swaying unsteadily. Without thinking, Grayson instinctively reached out and took hold of her hand, gently but firmly, trying to anchor her.
"Alison?" he asked firmly, tightening his grip gently. He understood that Drunk Alison could pose a danger not only to herself but also to others. Alison turned to face him, her smile widening. "I want to dance," she declared, her words slurring slightly.
"Dance?" he responded, his tone filled with disbelief. Before he could protest, she tugged at Grayson's hand, pulling him toward the bustling dance floor, where others were swaying and twirling to the music. Grayson reluctantly followed, realizing that resisting Alison's determination would be futile.
As the music enveloped them, Grayson and Alison found themselves standing still in the centre of the dance floor, surrounded by a swirling sea of people lost in the rhythm. Alison's gaze locked onto Grayson, her glassy eyes reflecting a mixture of bliss and confusion. She tiptoed towards him and giggled into his ear, "This is the part where you teach me how to dance."
Grayson raised an eyebrow, initially thinking that Alison was joking. However, the sincerity etched on her face told him otherwise.
He gently took hold of Alison's hips, pulling her closer to him. Placing her hands on his shoulders, he interlocked his fingers with hers. The sensation of their touch sent a jolt through him, but he pushed aside any distracting thoughts, focusing on the task at hand.
"Follow my lead," he instructed, his voice low and smooth.
He began to move, executing simple steps that matched the rhythm of the music. Grayson guided Alison, ensuring she stayed in sync with his movements, patiently leading her through the dance. His focus intensified as he carefully avoided stepping on Alison's feet, mindful of her lack of dancing skills. At some point, Alison placed her feet on top of Grayson's, allowing him to do the dancing while she glided along. He marvelled at how light she felt, so much so that he hadn't even noticed she was leaning against him.
The world around them faded into the background as they focused solely on each other. They were lost in their own world, oblivious to the curious glances and whispers around them.
Alison's glassy eyes fixated on Grayson with a searching intensity. It was as if she were seeking something, or someone, within his very being. The weight of her gaze lingered on him, and he couldn't help but feel a mixture of curiosity and unease.
Suddenly, the doors of the ballroom swung open once again, drawing the attention of the entire room. A hushed anticipation fell over the space, and a collective gasp rippled through the air as Mason Valentine made his entrance. Clad in a sleek black tuxedo, his tousled brown hair exuding effortless charm, Mason commanded attention with his magnetic aura.
The guests were drawn to Mason like a magnet, causing many dancers to halt their movements and flock toward him. Excitement and awe filled the room as people clamoured for a glimpse of the renowned author.
Grayson's voice cut through the silence, devoid of enthusiasm. "Mason Valentine," he uttered, his words hanging in the air as a mere observation of tardiness rather than genuine excitement.
At the mention of Mason's name, Alison's grip on Grayson's shoulders tightened abruptly, her fingers digging into his skin with unexpected intensity. The sudden pain made Grayson swivel his gaze back to her. Her face had turned pale, and her previously glassy eyes had transformed into pools of distress. "What's wrong?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine worry.
She released her grip on Grayson's shoulders, her touch lingering before stumbling backward, but managing to regain her footing. Swiftly, she made her way to the other end of the ballroom, her steps desperate and hurried. Grayson's instincts kicked in, compelling him to follow her.
"Where are you going?" Grayson called out, his words echoing through the grand space. The uncertainty in his voice mirrored the tumultuous thoughts swirling within him, driven by a strange rooted connection to Alison.
She glanced back, their eyes meeting, the weight of unspoken words hanging between them. Grayson caught up to her just as she reached the exit, his hand reaching out to gently grasp her arm.
Alison turned, her eyes locked onto Grayson's, her voice trembling with an undeniable resolve. She whispered, "I want ice cream."
Grayson's brows furrowed in deep concern, and he tightened his grip on her arm. He knew that asking more questions wouldn't yield answers. By now, Grayson understood that the only course of action was to follow along. He loosened his grip on her arms. "Let's get some ice cream then." Alison's gaze softened for a moment, and a faint smile touched her lips. Without hesitation, she reached out and gently clasped Grayson's hand, her touch warm against his own. Her smaller fingers interlocked with his, their hands fitting together with an unexpected sense of comfort. He felt a tingle of electricity, a connection that defied rationality.
Grayson allowed himself to intertwine his fingers with Alison's, their hands fitting together perfectly. There was something hauntingly familiar about the pain he saw reflected in her gaze, a pain that mirrored his own in some way.
As she gently tugged him along the hall towards the exit, Grayson found himself willingly following her lead, curious about where this would take them.
Grayson's mind raced with questions, each one entwined with a sense of intrigue. He wondered why Alison had resorted to drowning herself in alcohol, a choice Grayson had made several times to relieve himself from... things. But Alison didn't strike him as the type to drink. The absence of her shoes only added to the mystery, and then there was Mason Valentine—merely mentioning his name triggered an intense reaction in Alison. It was a puzzle he couldn't resist attempting to solve, despite the risks it posed. After all, he was a Hawthorne, and there was nothing more Hawthorne than winning.