Page 6 of Until She’s Mine

Evelyn

I t’s been four days since the night I saw Lucian. Four days of pretending everything is normal, smiling at Tobias during endless networking events, and discussing wedding plans that feel increasingly foreign to me.

Four days of lying to myself, telling myself that what I feel for Lucian can be buried, that it’s a spark that will eventually die if I just stop feeding it.

But it’s not a spark; it’s a wildfire, consuming every rational thought in its path.

And it’s why I spent the last few years avoiding Lucian altogether, why I’ve kept my distance even in the same room.

But now, when I have held his sketch in my hands, when I’ve seen the ways he’s captured me—not only my face, but the essence of who I am—I can’t pretend anymore.

The fire isn’t dying. It’s burning hotter, brighter.

Today, I’m back at the Blackwood estate. Tobias had insisted we finalize the wedding guest list with his mother and our wedding planner, though I suspect it’s more about appearances than any genuine interest in my input.

I sit in the parlor, my fingers tracing the delicate pattern on the edge of my teacup.

The room is elegant, all polished mahogany and Persian rugs.

Helen, Lucian and Tobias’s mother, sits across from me, her posture perfect, and her smile polished to a high sheen.

She’s discussing the floral arrangements with the wedding planner as we wait for Tobias to show up.

Her eyes flicker to me occasionally, assessing.

I smile politely, nodding at the appropriate moments, but my mind is elsewhere.

The sketch.

It’s tucked into my bag, hidden beneath a stack of museum catalogs. I’ve been carrying it with me since that night like a thief with stolen treasure.

“Am I intruding?” The voice is smooth, low, and unmistakable.

My head snaps up to find Lucian standing in the doorway, his presence instantly commanding the space.

He’s dressed impeccably, as always, in a tailored suit that clings to his broad shoulders, his tie perfectly knotted.

Lucian’s dark eyes sweep over the room, lingering on me for a fraction of a second longer than necessary before he steps inside.

Helen’s smile widens, and she gestures toward the empty seat beside her. “Certainly not, darling. We’re just finalizing the details for the wedding. Join us. Tobias is late, so you can give us your thoughts.”

“Of course.” Lucian inclines his head and takes the offered seat. His gaze flickers to me again, burning through the careful composure I’ve been clinging to.

“How was your meeting with Father?” Helen asks.

You see , a small part of my mind whispers, he’s not here for you. You’re losing your goddamned mind for nothing.

“Productive,” Lucian says. “The Windsor case is progressing as expected. Though I’m sure Tobias will have thoughts on the matter when he finally graces us with his presence.”

Helen’s lips tighten, but she says nothing. Instead, she turns back to the wedding planner, who’s holding up swatches of fabric for the tablecloths. “White, ivory, or champagne, Evelyn?”

I glance at the samples. “White,” I say, though I couldn’t care less about the color. Lucian’s presence is like a live wire in the room, sparking with an energy that makes it impossible to think clearly.

The wedding planner launches back into her monologue about peonies versus roses, but my attention is drawn to Lucian.

He leans back in his chair, his posture relaxed but controlled, one hand resting on the armrest. His fingers drum against the polished wood.

I catch myself staring at his hand, his sleeve sliding back just enough to reveal black ink peeking out from beneath his cuff.

Huh.

I didn’t know he had tattoos.

“What do you think, Evelyn?” Helen’s voice breaks through the haze of my thoughts, and I blink, startled.

“I-I’m sorry?” I stammer, the heat rising to my cheeks.

“The flowers,” she says slowly as if speaking to a child. “Do you prefer white roses or blush peonies?”

“Oh. I think… peonies.”

“Excellent choice.” Lucian’s voice cuts through the awkward pause that follows my response. His tone is casual, but there’s a glint in his eyes that makes my stomach twist. “They’re more unpredictable than roses. Wilder. More real.”

Helen raises an eyebrow. “Yes, well, we wouldn’t want anything too wild at a Blackwood wedding.”

There’s a sound of footsteps, and Tobias appears in the doorway. “Sorry I’m late,” he says with an easy smile. He strides into the room and drops a kiss on my cheek before taking the seat beside me.

Helen smiles at him indulgently while Lucian watches with an expression that could be mistaken for boredom if you didn’t know him better.

But I do know him better, and beneath that cool exterior is a storm raging out of control.

As Tobias chats with Helen and the wedding planner about table settings and seating arrangements, I feel trapped between two worlds—one I am obliged to be part of and one I can’t have.

“Evelyn?” Tobias asks. “What do you think about the seating chart? Should we seat Aunt Margaret next to Uncle Gregory, or would that be too much of a risk?”

“Whatever you think is best.”

Helen claps her hands together. “Well, that settles it then. We’ll seat them separately. No need for any drama at the wedding.” She emphasizes the word as if it’s a poison she’s determined to keep at bay.

Lucian leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “It’s a wedding. Drama is inevitable.”

Tobias laughs. “Not at this one. Everything will be perfect.”

Lucian’s lips curve into the faintest of smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Perfect,” he echoes and turns to Helen. “Mother, I’ve got to go now that Tobias is here to take over. There’s still some work I need to attend to at the office.”

“Of course, darling,” Helen says, her smile tight-lipped. “Don’t work too hard.”

Lucian rises from his chair and gives a curt nod to the room. As he passes by me, his hand brushes against my shoulder. It’s only a fleeting touch, but it leaves my skin tingling in its wake. I freeze before abruptly standing up.

“I’ll walk you out,” I say. Tobias glances up, his brows furrowed, but he doesn’t protest.

Lucian doesn’t stop or acknowledge my offer. He strides down the hallway, and I hurry to keep up, my heels clicking softly against the marble floor. The air between us crackles as we move further from the parlor, the sound of Helen and Tobias’s voices fading into the distance.

When we reach the grand foyer, Lucian stops and turns to face me. “You shouldn’t have followed me,” he says quietly.

I think of my bag left behind in the parlor. My hands feel empty without it.

“I didn’t—” My voice falters as I take a step forward. “I just needed to get out of there.”

“You’re lying, but that’s all right. I’ve always liked your lies better than anyone else’s truths.”

I look away, my cheeks burning. “We need to talk.”

He tilts his head. “Do we?”

I can feel his breath on my skin, warm and unsettling, as he leans in just enough to make my pulse quicken. The foyer seems too small suddenly, the air too thick, and I struggle to find the words that have been clawing at the edges of my mind for four days.

“You know we do,” I whisper, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “This, whatever this is, it can’t go on. It’s not right.”

“And yet, you followed me out here. You could have stayed in that room and played the dutiful fiancée, but you didn’t. Why is that, Evelyn?”

I open my mouth to respond, but no words come. “I—”

The moment stretches, fragile and taut, as I search for an answer. Lucian watches me with that same infuriating stillness as if he already knows the truth I’m too afraid to voice.

“Go back to Tobias,” he says, “before he comes looking for you. When you’re ready to admit what you really want, you know where to find me.”

He steps back, and I reach out instinctively, my fingers grazing his wrist. Lucian’s gaze drops to where my hand lingers, and he slowly lifts it to his lips and presses a kiss to my knuckles.

“Don’t,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

His expression softens, just barely, and he lifts his other hand to brush a strand of hair from my face.

His touch is achingly gentle. “You made it hard when you walked into my life and refused to leave.” His thumb traces the curve of my cheek before he drops his hand, the absence of his touch leaving me colder than before.

Before I can respond, he turns and strides toward the door. The heavy oak door opens with a soft creak, and he steps outside without looking back.

I take a deep breath and compose myself before returning to the room where my fiancé is waiting. Tobias looks up as I re-enter. “Everything all right?”

“Yes,” I lie as I take my seat beside him. “Just needed a moment.”