Page 103 of Lured By Shadows

“I trust you, too,” she added softly. “I know your attention isn’t on my Liam.”

I blinked, genuinely startled.

She was right, but the certainty behind it left me unsure what to do with my hands, my face, my breathing. I didn’t know how to explain that trust felt like a language I was still learning, something that usually left me waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I’m glad to hear that,” I said quietly.

She shifted seamlessly, lifting one of the images from my folder and studying it with renewed focus.

“Now, about this canopy,” she said thoughtfully. “What if we soften the shade a bit? Less watermelon, more pink sand?”

And just like that, the moment passed without pressure or interrogation.

We fell into an easy rhythm, ideas flowing back and forth without effort. Anna, despite her status and beauty, was relaxed and expressive, passionate about aesthetics and deeply devoted to her family. She despised the politics of high society but reveled in the indulgence of wealth, and the contradiction somehow made her feel more human rather than less.

As we talked, I realized I wasn’t shrinking. I wasn’t performing or apologizing for existing. I was contributing. My opinions were valued. My ideas were met with enthusiasm instead of polite dismissal.

It felt… good. Like maybe I wasn’t just passing through their world by accident.

At one point, Anna leaned closer, her grin conspiratorial.

“You must come into town with me soon,” she said, lowering her voice. “Eunice and I need another woman around. Too many men in this family. We need someone who understands shoes, wine, and emotionally complex fashion.”

It was a lot to take in—too much, too fast—and my instinct was to recoil at the speed of it all. But shopping was safe. Shopping didn’t ask me to unpack anything heavy. It didn’t demand trust in ways that felt irreversible.

It was just fabric and shoes and conversation.

So I laughed, the sound bubbling up, and nodded.

“Yeah,” I said, surprising myself with how easy it felt. “I’d like that.”

27

At some point during the delightful chaos of floral decisions and silk swatch debates, Belinda—or at least I assumed it was her—slipped into the room carrying a polished tray. From the corner of my eye, I watched her set it on the table between us. Silent and meticulous, she handled the apples and mandarins with the same care most people reserved for fine jewelry. It made me hyperaware that I was in a house where even the simplest things, like grabbing a snack, felt like an orchestrated event.

Then Anna reached for the fruit.

She picked up a slice of apple with lazy grace, bit into it, chewed, and swallowed, then followed it with a mandarin segment, licking the juice from her fingertips with a motion that felt almost defiantly human. Only then did I realize I’d been holding my breath, like I was waiting for her to fail some unspoken “Human Eating Test.”

I exhaled slowly, my shoulders loosening.

It didn’t erase the suspicion clawing at the back of my mind, but it grounded me again. Maybe it was just a cultural thing. Maybe they were rich enough that casual eating didn’t exist in their world. I didn’t know.

We’d just wrapped up the last details for the wreath. She wanted it wild but tasteful, pale roses tangled with deep green foliage.

“Like mourning the end of single life,” she’d joked.

That was when I felt it. A hand resting on my shoulder, easy and familiar.

A shiver shot straight down my spine.

I turned, already scowling, fingers twitching on instinct, and of course… it was him.

Culver stood behind me, smiling down like a boy who’d found his favorite stray cat contemplating an escape route. I hadn’t heard him approach. Either I’d been too wrapped up in floral theory, or he genuinely moved like some ninja straight out of a movie.

“Is it time already?” I asked, my voice landing somewhere between a sigh and a pout. I hadn’t meant to sound disappointed, but there it was anyway, tugging at my cheeks. I’d been happy. Making a friend, feeling useful, remembering the version of myself who liked creating beauty just for the sake of it, not because it made money or got views or made other people pay attention.

Culver leaned down, closing the space between us until the moment stretched taut, his breath brushing my cheek as his gaze softened.