Page 41 of Lucas

I shake my head. “No, I’d rather not.” He’ll only use that information against me, I’m sure.

“Alright then.” Lilibeth mimes zipping her lips. “My lips are sealed tighter than a jam jar in winter.”

With that, she bustles off, leaving me alone in the vast kitchen. I take a deep breath, squaring my shoulders, and dive in.

The next few hours pass in a blur of chopping, simmering, and sautéing. I lose myself in the familiar rhythms of cooking, the sizzle of meat hitting a hot pan, the fragrant steam rising from a bubbling pot. Lilibeth pops in and out, offering guidance on where to find the best pans or the freshest herbs, but mostly leaves me to my own devices.

By the time I slide the roast pork loin, glistening with a lavender honey glaze and nestled amongst golden apricots, into the oven, I’m flushed and sweating but content. I glance at the clock, wiping my hands on a towel.

Shit. It’s later than I thought. How does Lilibeth manage this every day, cooking for a small army of staff and still getting dinner on the table in time?

Lilibeth appears at my elbow, her expression warm with approval as she surveys the feast laid out on the counter. “This looks divine, sweetheart. A real feast fit for kings and queens.”

I duck my head, pleased but embarrassed by the praise. “I just hope it tastes as good as it looks.”

“Oh, I’ve no doubt.” Lilibeth pats my shoulder. “Now, youbetter run along and get yourself gussied up. Mr. Valeur doesn’t like to be kept waiting, you know.”

I bristle at that, my good mood evaporating like mist under the hot sun. Who cares what Lucas likes? I almost say it out loud, the words burning on the tip of my tongue. But I bite them back, reminding myself that I’m supposed to be playing a part.

So instead, I force a smile and a nod. “Of course. I’ll go freshen up. Thank you again, Lilibeth. For everything.”

Lucas and I agreed to eat our dinners together this week so as not to arouse the suspicions of the staff. Just one more dinner. One more performance. And then tomorrow, I’ll be back at the office, back to some semblance of my real life. I’ll no longer be trapped in this gilded cage with no one but the staff for company.

I slip out of the kitchen and make my way to my room, then take my time in the shower, letting the hot water sluice away the sweat and the stress. By the time I emerge, my skin is pink and glowing, my muscles loose and languid.

I dry my hair, letting it fall in soft, tousled waves around my shoulders, and then turn to the closet. My hand hovers over the row of dresses Lucas’s stylist picked out, the sequins and bold colors glittering in the soft light.

No. Not tonight. Tonight, I’m going to be me.

I reach instead for a piece I bought on a whim a few weeks ago.

It’s a corset top, the fabric a rich silk that seems to glow against my sun-kissed skin. The bust is embroidered with gleaming seed pearls and beads.

I fasten the hooks, the boned bodice cinching my waistand lifting my breasts until they threaten to spill over the scalloped edge.

A pair of wide-leg trousers in a matching shade and a fitted tuxedo jacket complete the look, the sharp tailoring a counterpoint to the feminine allure of the corset.

I survey myself in the mirror, my red-painted lips curving into a slow smile. I look...powerful. Sensual. The kind of woman who can bring a man to his knees with a single glance.

The kind of woman Lucas Valeur could never control.

Lucas thinks a woman can only look sexy and attractive if they wear flashy dresses full of sequins? Well, I think I look good like this. I love dressing up.

With one last fluff of my hair, I make my way down to the dining room, my heels sinking into the plush carpet runner. I’m a few minutes late, but I can’t bring myself to care.

Lucas is already seated when I enter, his head bent over his phone, thumb swiping at the screen. He doesn’t look up as I approach, not even when I clear my throat.

“You’re late,” he says, his tone clipped and cool.

“I am.” I don’t deny or apologize. It’s not a crime against humanity to be a few minutes late for an in-house dinner.

Lucas’s head snaps up, his eyes widening as he takes me in. I watch his gaze travel over me, from the tumble of my hair to the rise and fall of my beaded bust. When his eyes meet mine, they’re hot and dark, filled with a hunger that sends an answering shiver down my spine.

“What,” he begins, his voice a low rasp that seems to vibrate through my bones, “are you wearing?”

I raise one shoulder in a careless shrug, and the jacket slips down to reveal the slope of my neck. “Clothes,” I say, all wide-eyed innocence. “Is there a problem?”

His jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his cheek. “No,” he grits out, but I can see the way his fingers tighten around his phone, the way his eyes keep darting to the shadowed valley between my breasts. “No problem at all.”