26. Chapter Twenty-Six - Cursed Touch #2
I glanced over my shoulder at him, nervous energy coiling along my spine like a spring ready to snap if I didn’t get a grip. “Fine,” I sighed, like I wasn’t about to be sent into a private meeting with someone I both admired and low-key feared. “I’ll see you later.”
“I will be back before you know it,” he said, punctuating it with a wink that sent heat shooting straight to my cheeks.
I puffed them out and looked away so I wouldn’t grin like an idiot.
Show-off. Of course he could wink and make me feel all mushy.
For half a second, I wondered what he’d do while I was gone. Something mysterious and sexy, no doubt, like leaning over ancient books in a dim room with a lamp and a glass of red wine.
Either way, I forced myself to peel my thoughts away from the hallway encounter still clinging to me like perfume.
Ugh. Focus, Ira. Please.
I climbed the stairs and crossed to where Anna sat waiting, her softness making her intimidating aura feel more like an invitation than a test. Her smile was so warm I nearly forgot I was supposed to be nervous.
“You look beautiful today, Ira,” she said gently, her voice smooth as satin ribbon.
My face went nuclear, heat flooding my skin as I ducked my head, avoiding her eyes because compliments from someone like her felt dangerous.
“No, that’s not true. You’re way prettier than me.”
She didn’t even blink. “We can both be beautiful at the same time,” she said easily, reaching across to slide her hand over mine. The touch was light and graceful, but just as chilly as everyone else in the Scarbrough family. “I imagine you have something you’d like to show me.”
It wasn’t like we were competing, but I still felt inferior to her, given the way she carried herself so effortlessly.
After all the times I’d heard similar lines from guys who treated compliments like transactions, tossing out “pretty” as bait before pushing for more, it was hard not to brace myself for some hidden catch.
Even with Culver, it twisted in my head sometimes, the pull between wanting to believe him and bracing for whatever might follow, because looks had never secured anything for me.
They sparked interest for a while, until something better came along, leaving me feeling temporary every time.
Being pretty never felt like stability, just something fleeting that disappeared when it mattered most.
Still, I inhaled and forced myself to focus, reaching into my bag for the folder of sketches and swatches.
“I do,” I said, pulling it out and setting it between us. “I’ve been working on this and wanted your input. Last time you mentioned the bouquet, you were wanting to do the fuchsia and watermelon palette?”
Anna tilted her head, fingertips gliding to her chin as she considered. “Yes… though more flamingo than watermelon,” she said thoughtfully. “But if you have ideas that incorporate watermelon, I would love to see them.”
Relief washed over me in a slow wave, easing the flush building in my cheeks as I straightened the pages and turned to the board I’d prepared.
“Actually, I do. For the guest tables, I was thinking of these centerpieces,” I said, pointing.
“They blend that flamingo pink with softer coral tones so it stays bright without being overwhelming. And for the outside, I thought we could layer draped fabric with hanging florals. It’d pull everything together, especially if the ceremony’s outdoors. ”
Her soft laugh slipped through my explanation, light and easy, but enough to make my stomach tighten anyway. My mind scrambled, trying to figure out what I’d said wrong before she spoke again, her voice carrying a warm, teasing edge.
“You’re quite bold to suggest such lavish designs without asking about the budget first, delicate flower.”
The nickname settled heavily in my ribs, and then the full weight of my mistake crashed down.
The budget.
I hadn’t even thought to mention it. I’d just barreled ahead, assuming they could throw money at anything because that’s how it seemed to work in their world.
“Oh—I’m so sorry,” I blurted, wanting to sink through the floor. “I didn’t mean to overstep. I just—I assumed…” I winced. “That’s on me.”
Anna waved a dismissive hand, elegant and unconcerned.
“Not to worry,” she said breezily. “We indulge ourselves in this family, and you are part of our family, Ira. So please, choose the most expensive and beautiful ornaments and decorations you can find. I want this wedding to be extravagant, something that sings to the elite and hushes them into awe.”
Part of our family.
“Elites?” I repeated instead, clinging to the safer part of the sentence like a lifeline.
Anna leaned forward, her smile sharpening with knowing mischief.
“Oh, you know. The snobby, rich folks in high society who make polite conversation while sharpening knives behind their backs.” She sighed dramatically.
“It’s hard being rich, you know. Everyone assumes it’s caviar and champagne, but really, it’s small talk with strangers who smile too much and care too little.
People who haven’t touched reality in decades… or ever, really.”
I just looked at her, caught somewhere between nodding sympathetically or cracking a joke about how rough life must be up there.
But part of me actually got it in a weird way, even if I’d never set foot in that kind of world.
The idea of faking your way through conversations with people who didn’t understand you at all sounded exhausting, fancy outfits or not.