26. Chapter Twenty-Six - Cursed Touch #3
“I don’t think I’ll ever have to worry about that,” I said with a weak laugh, suddenly hyperaware of the canyon between our worlds. Not just money, but upbringing, expectation, power. It felt like the universe had cast us in completely different genres and somehow decided we shared a scene anyway.
Anna’s expression softened instantly, almost protective. She looked up at me, her eyes bright.
“I wouldn’t be so sure, delicate flower. You’re young and radiant. Give yourself time, and you’ll bloom into things you can’t even imagine yet. Don’t ever shrink yourself.”
The certainty in her voice settled deep, carrying an unshakable edge that made it feel less like a possibility and more like something she could already see unfolding.
It left me wondering what she saw in me that sparked that kind of belief, but whatever it was, it rooted itself quietly in my chest.
“I’m not really sure what you mean,” I admitted softly, “but… thank you, I guess, for believing in me.”
Sitting across from Anna in a room that looked more like a museum than someone’s home felt unreal.
Light filtered through tall windows, catching against glass and polished surfaces and casting warm reflections that made everything seem slightly dreamlike.
Talking about designs and colors like I belonged there felt like pushing boundaries, like if I leaned too far into it, someone would tap me on the shoulder and remind me I’d wandered into the wrong life.
But no one did. And Anna really listened.
She nodded and asked thoughtful questions, and the longer we talked, the more the sense of displacement softened into something firmer.
“Hey, Anna?” I asked after a moment, shifting in my seat as a question I’d been circling finally pushed its way out. “Why isn’t Liam here?”
Her smile didn’t falter, but her gaze dipped for just a fraction of a second before she answered, smooth and composed.
“He’s tied up with something important tonight.” She let out a small sigh, resting her chin on her hand. “Oh, that reminds me. How silly of me. He wanted me to send his regards. He would have loved to join us today. He’s such a dreamy fiancé, wouldn’t you agree?”
Dreamy did fit Liam with his flawless face, polished presence, and the kind of look magazines were built around. He almost didn’t seem real, like he’d been styled for public consumption.
Still, I wasn’t about to step into whatever emotional territory that question hinted at.
“I, uh…” I hesitated, then chose the safest answer I could find. “He’s very handsome.”
Anna smiled knowingly, as if she could hear everything I hadn’t said.
“No need to worry, delicate flower.” Her voice softened, turning more intimate as her hand slid over mine again, her thumb brushing my knuckles in a way that was gentle but purposeful. “I’m not the jealous type, so I trust my partner fully.”
The way she said trust, like it was instinct rather than something earned, made my chest tighten. Trust had never been automatic for me. It usually cracked under pressure, bent beneath misunderstandings, or dissolved the moment someone realized I was more complicated than they’d signed up for.
She didn’t even really know me, and yet—
“I trust you, too,” she added softly. “I know your attention isn’t on my Liam.”
I blinked, genuinely startled.
She was right, but the certainty behind it left me unsure what to do with my hands, my face, my breathing. I didn’t know how to explain that trust felt like a language I was still learning, something that usually left me waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“I’m glad to hear that,” I said quietly.
She shifted seamlessly, lifting one of the images from my folder and studying it with renewed focus.
“Now, about this canopy,” she said thoughtfully. “What if we soften the shade a bit? Less watermelon, more pink sand?”
And just like that, the moment passed without pressure or interrogation.
We fell into an easy rhythm, ideas flowing back and forth without effort.
Anna, despite her status and beauty, was relaxed and expressive, passionate about aesthetics and deeply devoted to her family.
She despised the politics of high society but reveled in the indulgence of wealth, and the contradiction somehow made her feel more human rather than less.
As we talked, I realized I wasn’t shrinking. I wasn’t performing or apologizing for existing. I was contributing. My opinions were valued. My ideas were met with enthusiasm instead of polite dismissal.
It felt… good. Like maybe I wasn’t just passing through their world by accident.
At one point, Anna leaned closer, her grin conspiratorial.
“You must come into town with me soon,” she said, lowering her voice. “Eunice and I need another woman around. Too many men in this family. We need someone who understands shoes, wine, and emotionally complex fashion.”
It was a lot to take in—too much, too fast—and my instinct was to recoil at the speed of it all. But shopping was safe. Shopping didn’t ask me to unpack anything heavy. It didn’t demand trust in ways that felt irreversible.
It was just fabric and shoes and conversation.
So I laughed, the sound bubbling up, and nodded.
“Yeah,” I said, surprising myself with how easy it felt. “I’d like that.”