“Now, I do.”
The rearview mirror shows my reflection: pale and wide-eyed, the nervous flush creeping up my neck. The cake samples in the passenger seat wobble as I park by the grand stone steps. Tobias’ Porsche isn’t in the circular drive. But the sleek black Mercedes S-Class is. My stomach knots.
“Tobias forgot the cake tasting last week.” I kill the engine. “So now I’m bringing the cake samples to him and Helena. Because apparently, it’s easier for me to drive two hours out of my way than for them to spare 15 minutes in the city.” My voice is tight, the frustration bleeding through.
Sophie sighs. “Typical Tobias. He always expects you to bend over backward for him. Honestly, Evelyn, I don’t know how you put up with it.”
I don’t answer because the only explanation is thatI must.
“Just saying, if you’re having second thoughts—” she continues.
“I’m not.” The words come too fast. “It’s just cake tasting.”
“Mhmm. And I’m the fucking Queen of England.”
I fix my red lipstick. It’s more armor than makeup, a shield to face whatever awaits me inside. “I have to go, Soph. Good luck with your boss, and let’s talk later.”
The line goes dead as I step out of the car, the gravel crunching beneath my heels. I balance the cake boxes in one arm and smooth my skirt with the other, willing my nerves to settle. The air smells faintly of roses and freshly cut grass, but it does nothing to calm the unease twisting in my chest.
The front door opens before I can ring the bell. Lucian stands in the doorway, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. I can see a part of his tattoo, but I can’t tell what it is. His eyes sweep over me, taking in the cake boxes, the lipstick, the faint tremor in my hands that I’m desperately trying to hide.
“Evelyn.” My name is a warm rumble. “I didn’t realize you’d be joining us today.”
I swallow hard. “Tobias missed the cake tasting last week. He asked to bring the samples here so we could finalize the decision.”
“You can join us for a family dinner. The dessert will be appreciated.” Lucian steps aside, gesturing for me to enter. The grand foyer stretches before me, its marble floors gleaming under the chandelier’s cold light.
“Where’s Tobias?”
His lips twitch. “Geneva, apparently. Some urgent ‘business’ with the Lockwood brothers.”
We both know the Lockwoods—their infamous yacht parties, the way their ‘tennis coach’ still texts Tobias at midnight.
The cake boxes slip from my numb fingers. Lucian catches them one-handed, his other hand steadying my elbow.
“He forgot,” Lucian murmurs.
It’s not a question.
The grandfather clock in the foyer ticks like a metronome, counting my humiliation. I should leave. I should march back to my car and drive away, leaving the cakes and my dignity behind. But Lucian’s grip tightens, his fingers a brand against my skin, anchoring me in place.
“You’re here now. Come inside and join us.”
He releases my elbow, but the warmth of his touch lingers, a phantom imprint that makes my skin prickle.
I follow him deeper into the house, the vastness of the estate swallowing me whole. Portraits of Blackwood ancestors line the walls, their painted eyes following me with silent judgment.
He leads me down a hallway lined with intricate wood paneling, the air growing warmer and more fragrant as we approach the heart of the house. The kitchen is a sprawling space of polished marble and stainless steel, a stark contrast to the antique grandeur of the rest of the estate. A large window overlooks the garden.
Lucian puts the cake boxes inside the fridge. “You’re nervous,” he observes as he leans against the counter, arms crossed.
“It’s not every day I bring wedding cakes to a Blackwood family dinner,” I say, forcing lightness into my tone. My fingers fiddle with the edge of my cardigan.
“You’ve been here before. Though usually with Tobias.”
I glance away, focusing on the roses outside the window. Their vibrant red seems almost garish against the muted tones of the kitchen.
“Has he shown you around?” His voice is soft, conversational.
