Page 52 of Lured By Shadows

I grimaced slightly while setting the glass back down, trying to recover whatever dignity I had left. But I didn’t need to look up to know Culver was still watching me. His attention clung to me like static, entertained in a way that was both irritating and unfairly magnetic. When I finally glanced his way, his smirk had only deepened.

I wanted the floor to swallow me whole.

Then another realization struck.

I’d just casually exposed myself as bilingual in front of an entire table of aristocrats.

Fantastic.

Meanwhile, Culver still looked entirely too pleased with himself.

“So,” the elegant woman seated at the far end of the table finally said, her voice soft and concise, “you are Ira?”

My name settled heavily in the air. My heartbeat stumbled while the room seemed to narrow around me, every breath suddenly too loud in my ears.

“…Yes,” I answered quietly, trying to sound more composed than I felt.

Her lips curved into a smile that was warm but measured, affection filtered carefully through control. “It is lovely to meet you,” she continued. “I am Eunice. Eunice Scarbrough.”

I nodded quickly, my posture stiffening on instinct. “Yes, it’s nice to meet you too,” I replied, the words tumbling out before I could slow them down. My gaze flicked automatically toward the man seated beside her.

“Hello, Ira,” he said, his voice deep and resonant, rolling low like distant thunder. “I am your mother’s executive and Culver’s…” His eyes shifted briefly toward his son, heavy with meaning. “Father. Julius. Julius Scarbrough.”

Julius carried authority without effort, from the relaxed way he leaned back in his chair to the sharp focus behind those amber-gold eyes. He looked like the sort of man who never needed to raise his voice to be obeyed. I nodded again, slower this time, forcing the words past the tightness in my throat.

“It’s really nice to meet you,” I said before adding quickly, “to meet all of you.”

They watched me with polite, unreadable interest that made my skin itch. Heat crept into my cheeks as I became painfully aware of everything at once: the way I was sitting, what I was wearing, and how out of place I looked at this table. For one brief, horrifying second, I was convinced they could see straight through me.

“Dinner will be served shortly,” Julius said at last, folding his hands together in a gesture that felt less like a host speaking and more like a ruler calling court to order. “Until then, we may converse. We are only waiting for Rupert to make his appearance.”

Eunice inclined her head slightly, her smile softening. “He is always late to dinner,” she said lightly. “A busy young boy. I believe Soroush will be joining us this evening as well.”

Beside me, Culver shifted. It was subtle, barely perceptible, but I felt it anyway. His shoulders tightened, his presence sharpening slightly. He didn’t look at me—or anyone else—when he spoke, but his voice slipped out low and edged.

“So it is true, then.”

The pause that followed stretched just long enough to carry meaning.

“Yes,” Eunice said carefully, her tone smoothing over something beneath it. “With the… well, you know, approaching, he has been rather absent.”

The way she said “you know” made my stomach twist.

Julius adjusted in his chair, one arm settling behind Eunice as he redirected the conversation with effortless control. “What about the flowers, Anna?”

Warmth threaded through his voice this time, unmistakable and almost indulgent. It was the tone of a proud father discussing his daughter’s wedding. Anna and Liam were actually engaged, which meant there’d be a real wedding somewhere in the future, something grand and beautiful enough to pull people in whether they meant to care or not. The thought drifted through my head instantly: crystal chandeliers, pale floral arches, candlelit tables dressed in creams and soft whites. Just imagining it eased some of the earlier tension coiled in my chest.

Anna, however, looked far less enchanted.

She groaned dramatically, leaning onto her elbow as though wedding planning alone might kill her. “I’ve thought about it,” she muttered, lifting her manicured fingers theatrically, “but I simply cannot stand the geranium foliage anymore. It’s too garish. It looks cheap.”

Her eyes flicked toward her father for emphasis. Julius answered with a small approving nod.

“I was thinking,” Anna continued, her voice brightening slightly, “of replacing them with silver bell eucalyptus. Cooler tones. More elegant. Just enough contrast.”

“Still using the creamy dahlias, are we?” Eunice asked, her voice warmed by something nostalgic.

“Absolutely,” Anna said at once, sitting straighter. “With the anemones, ranunculus, and astilbe. Those are non-negotiable.”