Page 14 of Until She’s Mine
Evelyn
T he cake boxes dangerously slide across my passenger seat as I take a sharp turn onto the estate’s winding driveway. Through my car speakers, Sophie’s voice crackles with static.
“—and then I told my boss that if he wanted perfection, he’d have to—Evelyn? Are you even listening?”
I jerk my attention back to the call. “Sorry. Just driving.” Past the iron gates with their creeping wisteria, down the mile-long driveway lined with oaks older than the Constitution, stands the Blackwood estate, its grandeur as imposing as ever.
The sunlight glints off the stained-glass windows, casting fractured rainbows across the manicured lawn.
“I still cannot believe that they live here.”
I love history, and yet I’ve never been more out of place than I am here, in this gilded cage of a mansion. It’s huge, empty, and cold despite the late spring warmth clinging to the air.
“Are you afraid Tobias will ask you to move into their castle?”
If he asks, I’ll have to agree, and living with Mr. and Mrs. Backwoods seems like a fate worse than death. Currently, Tobias and Lucian have their own apartments in the city, but family events always bring them back to this mausoleum of a house.
“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 that I 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.
“No. Tobias doesn’t like to linger here longer than necessary.”
Lucian hums. “A shame. The estate has a history. Secrets, even. Things you might find interesting.”
I look at him then. “Will you share those secrets with me?”
“Only you.” He pushes off the counter. My breath catches as he reaches out, his fingers brushing against a strand of hair that’s escaped from behind my ear. His touch is feather-light. “You’re always so careful,” he murmurs. “So composed. But I wonder… what would it take to make you unravel?”
I open my mouth to respond when the sound of footsteps echoes down the hallway. Lucian steps back, his expression shifting into one of polite neutrality as Helena sweeps into the kitchen.
“Darling, I’ve heard you talking with som—” She stops mid-sentence, her sharp gaze darting between Lucian and me. “Evelyn! What a pleasant surprise. I didn’t expect to see you here today.”
“Helena,” I say, my voice steady despite the way my pulse still races from Lucian’s nearness. “I brought the cake samples for Tobias, but it seems he’s unavailable.”
“Ah, yes. Geneva.” Her perfectly penciled eyebrows arch, and a saccharine sweet smile curves her lips. “Well, since you’re here, you might as well stay for dinner. Lucian, darling, why don’t you show Evelyn to the dining room? I’ll have Marta set an extra plate.”
Lucian inclines his head. “Of course, Mother.”
Helena’s gaze lingers on me for a moment longer, her smile sharpening at the edges before she turns and sweeps out of the kitchen with the same imperious grace she entered with.
“Shall we?” Lucian extends his arm, his tone deceptively light.
I hesitate, my fingers tightening around the hem of my cardigan. “Lucian…”
He waits, patient and still as a predator poised to strike. When I don’t continue, he steps closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re not afraid of me, are you?”
“Should I be?”
“That depends on whether you’re brave enough to find out,” he says and steps back, his arm still extended in that gentlemanly gesture.
I take his arm, my eyes dropping to the black lines of his tattoo peeking from beneath his cuff as we walk. The design is intricate, almost hypnotic, but I can’t quite make sense of it. It’s a secret waiting to be unraveled, much like the man himself.
The dining room is a large space, dominated by a long mahogany table that could easily seat thirty people. Crystal chandeliers cast a soft, golden glow over the room, their light catching on the gilded frames of more Blackwood portraits.
The dining room and the ballroom are the only spaces I frequent when I visit with Tobias.
Lucian pulls out a chair for me, his hand brushing lightly against my shoulder as I sit. The touch is deliberate, lingering just a moment too long. He takes the seat to my right, close enough that our arms could graze if either of us shifted.
God, this dinner is going to be the longest of my life.