Monty returned to the executive lounge where Romy waited, black coffee cooling at his elbow. A single raised brow asked the question Romy hadn't voiced aloud.
"Dad just wanted an update," Monty lied, lowering himself beside Romy on the leather sofa. He forced a casual shrug, though his pulse throbbed in his ears. "He's impatient about the investigation."
Romy studied him, those quicksilver eyes that read people like open books. "Impatient fathers I can handle," he said at length, drumming fingertips on a closed laptop. "We'll have what we need by tonight. Then, home." His smile tilted. "Back to Delhi, back to… real life."
Monty's stomach tightened. "Right. Tonight." He swallowed. "But before we fly, I need to tell you something. Important."
That caught Romy's full attention. "Something you couldn't share earlier?"
Monty nodded, gaze dropping to Romy's hands, strong, elegant, the same hands that had steadied him on the skating rink, brushed tears from his cheek. "After the proof," he murmured. "I promise."
Romy accepted that with a gentle incline of his head, though curiosity flickered behind his lashes. "Then let's hunt our villainess."
The CCTV Lab
The hotel's security office was a hush of humming servers and wall-mounted screens looping footage in grayscale. A junior tech queued files; Romy and Monty leaned close to the largest monitor, scanning hour after hour of recorded lives.
Monty's breath hitched when Romy stepped up behind him to point at a time-stamp, their bodies nearly flush. Romy didn't notice, he was laser-focused on the images, but Monty felt everything: the brush of warm breath against his neck, the faint cologne that always reminded him of cedar after rain. His skin tingled beneath the cotton collar.
"See that?" Romy traced the screen with a fingertip. "Naina enters the pool deck at 15:42."
Monty nodded, forcing himself not to close his eyes at the intimacy of Romy's proximity.
Another reel played. Naina in a sleek swimsuit, Harsh appearing moments later. They laughed, flirted, touched. And then, frame by frame, Naina cupped Harsh's jaw and kissed him, slow and proprietary, under the glare of midday sun.
Monty inhaled sharply. "There! That's it. That's the smoking gun."
All the tension he'd been carrying detonated into giddy relief. Without thinking, he spun and threw his arms around Romy. The laptop nearly toppled; Monty didn't care. He felt Romy's surprised laughter rumble through his chest as the taller man steadied them both.
"You did it," Monty whispered against Romy's shoulder. "We did it."
Romy's arms rounded him in return, strong and secure, and the tightness of the embrace became something else, something that lingered too long to be strictly celebratory. Monty's cheek pressed to Romy's heartbeat; Romy's hand drifted in soothing circles across Monty's spine before settling at the small of his back.
Time telescoped until only the hush of servers and their mingled breathing existed. Monty could feel Romy's pulse accelerate, matching his own frantic rhythm. In that charged hush, Romy's palm slid just fractionally upward, fingertips gliding over fabric as though memorizing the shape beneath.
Monty's entire body answered the touch, a thrill cascading through him. He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the urge to tilt his head and offer his lips, disaster be damned.
Romy's voice broke the spell, low and unsteady. "Monty…"
Monty forced a shaky laugh, easing back. "S-sorry. Got carried away."
"Don't apologize," Romy said, voice husky. He cleared his throat, retreating a half step to safer ground. "Let's export this footage before my professionalism takes the day off."
Monty caught the faint pink cresting Romy's cheekbones. The sight did dangerous things to his resolve.
Export & Confession Deferred
They copied the incriminating clip to a secure flash drive, signed off on chain-of-custody forms, and left the security wing. In the corridor, Romy slid the drive into his jacket pocket like a priceless gem.
"Tonight we show Harsh and Naina to be the frauds they are," he said, satisfaction drip-ping from every syllable.
Monty's heart sank, Papa's directive echoing: Keep him here. For the thousandth time he wondered what price he'd pay for disobeying.
"Romy… about earlier."
Romy slowed, turning to face him. Corridor light silvered his dark hair. "The thing you said you needed to tell me?"
Monty opened his mouth, but a group of tourists flooded the hallway, chattering in German, splitting the moment. Romy cocked an eyebrow, invitation gentle. Monty hesitated, then shook his head.
"Later," he mouthed, and Romy nodded, though disappointment shadowed his expression.
Twilight on the Terrace
They sit at sunset on the hotel's rooftop terrace to plan delivery of evidence to Indian authorities. A chill alpine breeze teased Monty's fringe; Romy shrugged out of his blazer and draped it over Monty's shoulders without a word.
Monty clutched the warm fabric, breathing in Romy's scent. "You'll catch cold," he protested.
"I'm tougher than I look," Romy replied. "And you're...." He stopped, lips quirking. "...precious cargo."
Monty's cheeks heated. "I'm not glass, Romy."
"No," Romy agreed softly, gaze lingering. "You're something rarer."
Silence stretched, threaded with unspoken things. Monty forced himself to focus. "We should alert dad and the lawyers about the video."
"Already emailed," Romy said, tapping his phone. "After we eat, we'll pack."
Monty bit his lip. Another chance slipping away. "Can we… maybe delay till morning?" he blurted. "A few hours won't matter, and I wanted to visit the lakeside market one last time."
Romy's brow furrowed. "Monty, you just said you were ready to go home."
I'm never ready to leave you. The confession screamed inside his skull, but what left his mouth was weaker. "Please? Call it a victory lap."
Romy studied him. "All right," he said finally. "One more night."
Relief and guilt warred in Monty's chest. He offered a grateful smile that felt brittle around the edges.
Dancing Shadows & Almost Kisses
Late evening found them strolling old cobblestone lanes lit by fairy-string lights. Buskers played violin; the lake mirrored moonsilver. Monty bought roasted chestnuts, handing Romy a paper cone.
They talked in low voices, favorite childhood books, worst exam results, secret pet peeves, each answer another thread weaving them closer. Laughter bubbled easy; occasionally their shoulders brushed, sending sparks skittering through Monty's veins.
At the quay, a street musician struck up a slow waltz. Couples drifted onto the makeshift dance space.
Romy extended a hand, playful challenge flashing in his eyes. "Prove your balance, Mr. Chaudhary?"
Monty's pulse leaped. He placed his palm against Romy's. They moved in gentle circles, steps syncing with the plaintive violin. Monty counted heartbeats instead of beats-per-measure, afraid if he looked up he'd drown in Romy's gaze.
But Romy tipped his chin with a knuckle. "Eyes on partner."
Monty obeyed, and the world telescoped again: snowfall of lights, music fading beneath the roar of blood in his ears, Romy's smile soft as a promise. Their bodies aligned, heat and gravity conspiring to erase space. Romy's hand slid from Monty's back to cup his jaw; Monty swayed closer, parted lips trembling.
"Monty," Romy breathed, voice shaken. "I—"