15. Chapter Fifteen - Gilded Trap #2
Steam rose at once, warm and fragrant, and within seconds my plate was no longer bare but filled with what had to be the most impressive dinner I’d ever seen.
An elegant Italian dish sat before me, the sort you usually only come across online.
Filtered, staged, almost unreal. The scent wrapped around me instantly: roasted garlic, sweet tomato, sharp cheese, and fresh basil, rich enough to make my mouth water on the spot.
My stomach let out a low, uncontrollable growl, and I froze, hoping no one had noticed.
Betrayed publicly by my own organs. Thankfully, no one commented.
My gaze drifted to the others at the table, curiosity creeping in despite myself.
That’s when I noticed something that made my brows pull together.
The Scarbroughs barely had anything on their plates at all.
Just small portions, nothing close to what I’d been served.
Thin slices of vegetables, tiny portions of protein, and careful drizzles of sauce that looked more decorative than filling.
I couldn’t help wondering how they even functioned on meals like that.
With all their money, it wasn’t as though they had to deprive themselves.
Maybe they lived off supplements or replacements, or maybe they just weren’t hungry.
Still, something about it lingered in my mind.
Eunice must’ve noticed my quiet staring because she spoke up, her posture flawless and her voice soft but clear enough to carry.
“We do hope you make yourself comfortable here, Ira. Please don’t worry about anything. Eat as much as you’d like.”
She sounded warm, even welcoming, but there was distance underneath it too, reassurance meant to keep me from asking too many questions. I nodded politely, unsure how to respond. Julius, who had been mostly silent since the introductions, surprised me by adding his own comment.
“Seconds are encouraged,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting as he gave me a quick wink. “Even thirds, if you’re feeling brave.”
Finally. Someone here understood me emotionally.
Without meaning to, I looked up toward Culver.
My eyes almost searched for permission even though I’d already promised myself I wouldn’t look at him.
Especially not with the way he had me boxed in beside him in this uncomfortable-comfortable position.
He gave a small nod, though, as though he’d been waiting for me to glance his way.
It was ridiculous that I even felt the need to check with him, but his gaze made it seem as though I needed confirmation before doing anything at all.
“Okay,” I murmured, shifting in my seat to reclaim a little space as I picked up my utensils. “Thanks for the meal.”
The flavors hit all at once. Rich and balanced, the sauce was tangy and smooth, and the pasta perfectly cooked.
It felt indulgent in a way I wasn’t used to, as though something simple had been elevated into an impossibility.
I closed my eyes briefly, letting it settle despite myself.
It was so good it almost hurt. I didn’t make a sound, even though my body wanted to react, wanted to give anything away.
I bit my lip instead and swallowed it down with the taste, forcing myself to stay composed.
Most nights, dinner with my ma meant a quick meal or nothing at all, and on the rare occasions she cooked, I usually forced down a few bites out of obligation. This was different in every obvious way.
His voice came low and close, brushing my ear while everyone else stayed absorbed in their own conversations.
“I am not entirely sure what is going through your mind,” Culver murmured, his breath skimming the side of my neck, “but I should make this clear. I do intend to be your friend.”
The word landed wrong. Not cruel exactly, but humiliating all the same.
“Friend” wasn’t a boundary. It was a dismissal wrapped in politeness.
I swallowed my food too quickly, nearly choking as heat slid down my throat and panic climbed through my chest. I cleared my throat, forcing my voice to stay steady while pushing away from him as much as I could. “What if I don’t wanna be your friend?”
Even saying it made something twist painfully inside me. I hated how exposed it sounded. I wasn’t here to be handled gently, humored, or kept at arm’s length with polite smiles and measured concern. I wasn’t some fragile obligation he’d been assigned. The thought alone made my stomach turn.
He blinked, genuinely caught off guard, his brows drawing together in confusion that looked almost real.
“Bear with me,” he said slowly. “Am I misunderstanding something?”
I looked back down at my plate, dabbing carefully at the corners of my mouth with my napkin as if that might somehow smooth over the mess building inside me.
“Misunderstanding?” I repeated, keeping my tone cool despite how tightly wound I felt. “I mean exactly what I said. I don’t wanna be your friend.”
His fingers at my hip remained heavy and unyielding, making tension ripple beneath my skin.
“And there is nothing I can do to change that?” His voice had softened now, less certain than before.
I despised that he asked. I hated how directly the question pressed against the weakest part of my resolve. A small, bitter breath escaped me.
“It’s not like I really get a choice,” I said.
“You’re my ma’s boss. I have to be nice.
” I glanced at him from the corner of my eye, letting the sarcasm slip through.
“So congratulations. You win. I’ll smile and play nice, but that doesn’t mean I want anything real from you. Not that you’d give it to me anyway.”
He went quiet for a moment.
Then, in the same maddeningly calm tone, he said, “What I want is real, Ira.”
His eyes searched mine while his hand pulled me closer, tightening slightly at my hip.
“I thought… what we shared was already real. Are you saying that it was all fake?”
The worst part was how convincing he sounded. If he’d been anyone else, I might’ve brushed it off as smooth talk. But Culver carried himself with the sort of quiet control that made every word feel purposeful, every glance impossible to ignore.
I couldn’t let myself believe him. I couldn’t let hope settle back into places I’d barely managed to shut down.
“You’re such a good liar,” I muttered. “Just take me to school, bring me home, and do that until you get bored of me. When you do, I won’t cry about it or beg you to stay.”
That should’ve shut him down completely. Instead, he leaned closer.
“Little lamb,” he said softly, and the nickname slid beneath my skin, undoing me more than I wanted to admit. His fingers threaded through my hair while he leaned near my ear again, his voice moving through me, slow and steady.
“I truly do not understand what you have convinced yourself of, but I will say this as many times as necessary.” His hand tightened gently against my hip. “Let me show you with what I do, not with what I say.”
A fierce shiver rolled through me as his breath traced the curve of my ear.
My hand lifted on instinct, pressing flat against his chest. Not to push him away, but to steady myself against the chaos he stirred inside me.
I had to keep him from hearing the violent rhythm of my heartbeat, from sensing how easily his voice unraveled me.
His chest stayed firm beneath my palm, tension bleeding through the fabric of his hoodie. His hand slid higher along my hip, settling just beneath my breast before he pulled me closer until my trapped hand pressed between us.
No. I couldn’t let this happen. Which made it even worse that part of me still wanted it to.
My fingers tightened in his hoodie, wrinkling the expensive fabric as I clung to him for stability. The jacket probably cost more than everything I owned combined, but in that moment I couldn’t bring myself to care. I just needed something solid while he dismantled me so effortlessly.
When he finally leaned back and gave me space, I took a shaky breath and forced my expression neutral, pretending I was anywhere near okay.
“My sister already mentioned it,” he said quietly, his tone calm and unreadable, “but I wanted you to hear it from me.”
I tilted my head slightly, acting unaffected even while heat lingered stubbornly in my cheeks. God, why did he always have to look at me that way?
“Yeah?” I asked, keeping my voice casual through sheer force of will. “What’s that?”
I took another bite of my food just to give myself something to focus on that wasn’t him, even though I was hanging onto every word anyway.
He let out a small breath, glancing briefly toward his siblings before looking back at me.
“My family and I are leaving tomorrow,” he said evenly. “We will be gone for a bit. Three days, perhaps. I simply did not want you to be confused by my absence.”
I blinked, my chewing slowing as the meaning settled in. Gone for three days.
Relief came first because I desperately needed space from him and everything he stirred up inside me.
Then came the dread. Somehow, in barely any time at all, I’d grown used to his presence.
Worse, a quiet sense of security had started attaching itself to him without my permission, and now he was leaving just as suddenly as he’d appeared.
I swallowed carefully, forcing all of it down before it reached my expression.
“Oh,” I said evenly, lowering my gaze back to my plate. “Okay. Thanks for letting me know.”
“Always,” he replied thoughtfully.
Finally, I glanced over to find Rupert and Soroush watching us. It was probably because Culver had pulled me so close that I barely had room left to breathe. Or maybe, to them, I was simply another thing being studied.
Just as I was to Culver.