LUCIAN”Lucian.”
My mother’s voice cut through my thoughts, loud enough to pull me back to the table.
“Yeah,” I muttered, lifting my head.
She narrowed her eyes at me.
“Are you even listening to me right now?”
”Not really,” I said, a faint smile tugging at my mouth before I could stop it.
She let out an exaggerated sigh, clearly unimpressed.
Before she could launch into another lecture, my dad spoke up from the head of the table.
“Give the boy a break, sweetheart,” he said calmly.
“You’ve been grilling him nonstop since he walked in.”
I shot him a grateful look.
“But he keeps zoning out on me,” my mom complained, turning back to him with a small pout.
I wish I can defend myself and say it’s all for good reasons, but it’s not.
It’s everything I shouldn’t be thinking about during lunch with the kids and my parents.
I can’t believe I spent nearly three hundred thousand just to get her alone.
Three hundred thousand for a few minutes in a dark room, for the chance to see her without the stage, without the crowd, without anyone else in the way.
I’d walked in almost the same time she took the stage and instead of blending in with the audience, I stayed upstairs, watching.
And from the first moment she moved, I noticed something was off.
She wasn’t carrying the same energy she’d had last week.
It was like she was on autopilot, going through the motions and the feeling of satisfaction that hit me had no business being there at all.
Then she threw that big man who tried to grope her clean over her shoulder…a fucking beautiful sight.
A lot of money, a low growl here and there and suddenly, she was right there with me.
The plan had been simple: get her in the room, corner her, lift the mask, expose her identity.
That was all.
But she landed in my lap.
And the instant I felt her stiffen, all tension and fear radiating off her in a wave when I reached for her mask, something in me twisted.
Suddenly, the idea that her disguise was just for show didn’t hold up.
Maybe there was more to it, something I hadn’t accounted for.
Even the club’s owner had been unusually protective when I asked for her.
And fuck… her weight against me did something reckless to my head.
The way she leaned in, trusting for half a second, then caught herself and tried to fight me off like she remembered who I was to her.
That damn scent of hers wrapped around me when she pressed close, and it made my head spin. Visit g.com for the full chapter.
Made it impossible to focus on the plan.
She smelt like warm vanilla and sugared petals.
But there was something else woven through it, something I couldn’t place no matter how hard I tried.
It’s persistent and wrong in the best way.
Underneath it was maybe a hint of citrus, like she’d just stepped out of the shower and it was scrambling my thoughts so bad I lost my damn objective.
So instead of doing what I came here to do, instead of pushing or pressing or taking advantage of the moment, I found myself checking her temperature.
I just… needed to know if she was okay, if she was actually ill, because that was all I could focus on for a damn second.
“See?
See!
He’s zoned out again,” Mum exclaimed, snapping her fingers in front of my face.
Even Dad raised a brow, looking slightly concerned.
“Is work not going well?” He asked.
I leaned back in my chair and dabbed at my mouth with the napkin, hoping they’d drop it.
“No, not really,” I said.
“Just a bit tired.”
”Daddy, gravy please,” Eli piped up from my side, his little hands pointing at the serving dish in the middle of the table.
I scooped some carefully onto his sectioned plate.
God forbid anything touch the wrong part of his food.
He wouldn’t eat it.
Not a bite.
“Are you listening to me now?” Mum pressed again, dragging my attention back to her with that sharp edge I knew too well.
I folded my hands and leaned forward, resting my head on one hand and gave her the most mock-sincere expression I could muster.
“Yes, Mrs.
Shannon Delacroix.
You have my full attention.”
She shot me a glare that was only half serious, then cleared her throat.
“You remember Anna?”
”Your friend from the golf club?” I asked, frowning slightly.
“Yes.”
”What about her?”
”So, she has a daughter,”
Oh God… not today.
She continued quickly as if she were afraid I’d stop listening.
“She’s a professor, recently divorced, and—well, she heard you’d moved to Brooklyn and wanted to have tea together.”
Tea.
“I think that’s my cue to be on my way,”
”C’mon, Luce,” she said, leaning forward, almost pleading.
“It’s just one meeting.
Who knows?
You might get curious about each other.”
I grimaced at the idea.
The only person I was curious about was a certain teacher, entirely off-limits.
The one who dances in red lights and leather.
The one who throws men over her shoulders like—
Why the fuck am I thinking about her again?
I ground my teeth and forced my gaze back to the table.
Mom, oblivious, was still smiling at me, expecting a positive response.
Dad just leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, watching me with quiet amusement.
“Mom, please,” I said, shaking my head.
“If you don’t want me moving states—or countries—again, stop trying to set me up on blind dates.
I’m perfectly fine without the extra trouble.”
She sighed, slumping back in her chair, all fight gone.
“Whatever,” she muttered, waving me off like she’d given up.
Dad’s quiet chuckle followed and I let myself relax just a little.
Lunch eventually wound down into harmless small talk.
Nothing probing nor personal.
Stories about neighbors, the kids, things that didn’t require me to explain myself or defend my choices.
By the time we were done, the twins were half-asleep, heavy-eyed and limp in my arms.
I buckled them into their seats and shut the doors gently.
Dad clapped a hand on my back as I turned around while I moved in to hug Mum.
“Sorry, Mom.”
She waved it off and rubbed my back anyway.
“It’s fine,” she said softly.
“I love you, Luce.”
”Love you too.”
After a few more waves and reminders to call, I got into the car and drove off.
And for the first time in a long while, I caught myself wishing the day would hurry up and end.
I can’t wait to see how she’d react to my presence tomorrow.
Monday couldn’t come soon enough.