14. Chapter Fourteen - Fragile Breath
The sight of my ma sitting at their table nearly knocked the air from my lungs. My steps faltered even as Culver continued guiding me forward. A heavy realization settled over me piece by piece, making it harder to think clearly.
Culver’s parents weren’t distant executives hidden away in some unreachable world. They were the people my ma worked for directly. The reason she’d uprooted our lives so suddenly. The reason we’d ended up tangled in all of this in the first place.
Everyone around me had known.
I’d been the only one stumbling through it blind.
The professor steering me toward Culver, the strange familiarity between him and my ma, and the way he’d pushed so hard for me to come tonight all clicked together.
None of this had happened naturally. I hadn’t crossed paths with Culver by chance.
I’d been maneuvered into place without realizing it.
And somehow, the worst part was how easily I’d fallen into it.
Every lingering glance from him, every quiet touch, every moment that had felt personal suddenly looked different through this new lens. The realization settled heavily in my chest, sharp enough to make swallowing difficult.
Culver must have sensed the shift because the hand at my back tightened slightly before sliding higher in a slow, soothing motion that might have comforted me earlier.
Now it felt rehearsed. Even with the anger and confusion crashing through me, his touch still sent warmth spreading beneath my skin, and that only frustrated me more.
His palm drifted lower again, settling at my hip with quiet possession that made me tremble despite every instinct warning me to pull away.
I hated that my reactions to him hadn’t changed.
Even now, some reckless part of me still leaned toward him instinctively, as though he’d become something impossible to stop wanting. Worse, I hated wondering whether he secretly enjoyed how easily I still responded to him.
He was probably thinking, And she actually thought I liked her? Cute.
I squeezed my eyes shut briefly and forced the thought away before it poisoned my mood further.
I had to stay composed. I had to remain the polite daughter before I ruined whatever arrangement my mother had with these people.
I couldn’t embarrass her, even if this entire evening felt like betrayal dressed in candlelight and polished silver.
When we reached the long dining table, the three figures seated at the head turned toward us together.
Culver’s parents carried the same uncanny pallor, their skin almost marble-like beneath the soft lighting.
The man’s features were regal: blond hair swept back with immaculate precision and amber eyes sweeping across the room with quiet authority.
The woman beside him looked equally formidable, auburn hair falling in controlled waves around a face so elegant it seemed sculpted rather than born.
Their attention settled on me carefully, not judgmental exactly but observant enough to make me feel pinned beneath glass.
Still, my focus refused to leave my ma. She smiled gently, as though this weren’t the most surreal moment of my life.
Without waiting for permission, I slid into the empty seat beside her. The carved chair scraped softly against the marble floor while irritation simmered beneath my ribs. Leaning toward her, I kept my voice sharp and low.
“What the heck, ma?”
Apparently emotional damage was the soup du jour.
My mother didn’t flinch. She stayed perfectly composed, graceful in the way she only became during professional situations. She didn’t even look at me when she answered in clipped French.
“Do not speak to me like that in front of my employer, young lady.”
The warning in her voice scraped hard across my nerves. Of all moments to suddenly care about etiquette, she picked this one?
I bit the inside of my cheek, glaring at her. I barely even registered the absurd luxury surrounding us or the fractured chandelier light spilling across the silverware. The only thing keeping me steady was the frustration tightening through my chest.
I leaned closer again, switching fully into French. “Thanks for looping me into your little secret,” I hissed. “A warning would’ve been nice before tossing me into this.”
She rolled her eyes.
“And what exactly is the problem with this surprise?” she replied dismissively. “You two seem to be getting along just fine.”
A strained laugh scraped its way up my throat. “What makes you think we’re getting along?” I shot back. Everything about this night felt orchestrated down to the smallest detail.
She hummed softly, smirking in a way that reminded me far too much of Culver. “He is a handsome young man, is he not?”
Oh my God. My mother was trying to diplomatically pimp me out.
My eyebrows shot upward. “Yeah,” I snapped, “and what about it? Even if he were the perfect man, that doesn’t mean I have to get along with him.” Heat rushed into my face. “And it doesn’t mean he has to get along with me either.”
My mother exhaled through her nose, irritation finally slipping through her composure. “Enough. We are ruining the dinner,” she murmured before straightening again, effectively ending the conversation.
“Fine,” I muttered in English, sinking back into my seat while embarrassment burned along my neck.
It was already obvious enough that tension hung between us.
Even Culver, sitting there with effortless composure as though the room belonged to him, looked entertained.
A faint smirk tugged at his mouth while his eyes gleamed with private amusement.
My stomach tightened. He didn’t know what we’d said… right?
That smirk felt far too knowing.
I quickly grabbed the nearest glass and took a long sip, desperate for anything to distract myself.
Instant regret.
The liquid hit my tongue, rich and floral, before burning warmly down my throat. Wine. Expensive wine. I swallowed hard to avoid coughing across the table like a child.
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.