POV Audrey
"I apologize for the intrusion." Stellan's voice carries the honeyed warmth of someone who apologizes often and means it never. "The reservation staff mentioned a Reed presence in the private dining room, and I simply had to investigate. Family loyalty and all that."
I study him while Shane radiates silent fury beside me. Stellan is perhaps five to seven years Shane's senior, yet equally striking, but where Shane's features carry sharpness, Stellan's have softened into something more approachable. More deliberately charming.
The Reed family apparently breeds beauty with ruthless efficiency.
I catch myself mid-thought and feel heat creep up my neck. Absolutely not. I refuse to catalog attractive qualities in Shane's relatives while trapped in an arrangement I never wanted.
"Since we've stumbled upon each other so fortuitously, perhaps I could join you for a few minutes?"
Stellan gestures toward the empty space in our booth, his smile perfectly calibrated.
"I'd love to get to know the woman who's finally convinced my cousin to settle down. Romy speaks of little else these days."
"No." Shane's refusal lands roughly. "We're discussing business matters that don't concern you, Stellan. I'm sure you have somewhere else to be. Anywhere else, in fact."
Something stubborn rises in my chest—curiosity, maybe, or perhaps simple contrariness.
Shane has spent days making decisions about my life without consulting me. The petty satisfaction of making one he doesn't approve of feels like reclaiming something small.
"Actually, I'd welcome the company." I slide slightly to make room, ignoring the sharp look Shane shoots me. "Family is important, isn't it? And I've heard so little about the extended Reed dynasty. Please, join us."
Stellan slides into the booth with a gracious smile that doesn't extend to his eyes when they meet his cousin's.
"How generous of you, Audrey. I can see already why Shane finds you so captivating—beauty and warmth in equal measure. A rare combination in our circles."
Shane's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. His hand, which had been reaching for his wine glass, retreats to rest flat against the tablecloth.
Throughout the next twenty minutes, Shane doesn't touch his food. The exquisite French cuisine sits untasted before him while Stellan orders an appetizer and dominates the conversation with practiced ease.
I attempt to ease the tension with questions about San Francisco, about the investment community, about anything that might defuse the hostility radiating from across the table.
Stellan appears blissfully unaware, responding to each topic with enthusiasm while Shane's silence grows heavier.
I remember suddenly what Shane confessed during our prom night—his mother's constant comparisons, the expectations he could never meet, the cousin whose accomplishments were held up as evidence of Shane's inadequacy.
Watching them now, I understand the dynamic better. Stellan wears success like a comfortable garment, effortless and well-fitted, while Shane armors himself against attack.
"So tell me," Stellan says, leaning forward with apparent interest, "how is the relationship progressing? I confess I'm curious about the woman who's managed to capture my workaholic cousin's attention."
I shift into support mode before I've consciously decided to. The words come automatically, protective in a way that surprises me.
"Shane has been remarkably thoughtful, actually. Just last week he took me to an incredible art exhibition—Cyrus's work at the Belltown gallery. The pieces were stunning, and Shane's appreciation for the artist's vision was genuinely moving to witness. He's more sensitive than he lets most people see."
Stellan's expression brightens with recognition.
"Ah, Cyrus! I know him quite well, as it happens. Fascinating man, though troubled. Shane's investment in his career was what saved him from self-destruction, I believe—perhaps worse, if the rumors are accurate. My cousin does have a gift for recognizing potential where others see only problems."
Something shifts in my perception. The compliment sounds sincere enough, but there's an undercurrent I can't quite name. Beneath the affability, I sense calculation. A chess player evaluating the board while pretending to make casual conversation.
I pivot instinctively, steering toward safer ground.
"Cyrus is extraordinary. The way his glass work captures light—I've never seen anything quite like it. Shane clearly has excellent taste in the artists he supports, and in the friends he keeps close."
Across the table, Shane watches me with skeptical eyes. I recognize that look—he's waiting for the punchline, expecting this defense of him to reveal itself as another of my calculated games. The assumption stings more than it should.
"You could back me up here," I say, meeting his gaze directly. "I'm speaking about your friend, after all. Surely you have something to add about Cyrus's talent, or about the exhibition you were kind enough to share with me."
Shane's expression flickers—surprise, maybe, or the recalibration of someone who's misjudged a situation. He turns to Stellan with a cutting smile that doesn't reach his eyes.
"Cyrus is brilliantly imperfect. His work carries weight precisely because it comes from struggle—from surviving things that would have destroyed lesser artists. I find perfection tedious, frankly." His gaze holds Stellan's with pointed meaning. "They tend to be remarkably dull company."
Stellan laughs, the sound warm and apparently genuine.
"Still the same Shane. Always finding ways to suggest I'm somehow less interesting for having an easier path." He rises from the booth, straightening his jacket with deliberate care. "Thank you both for tolerating my intrusion. Audrey, it was a genuine pleasure meeting you. I suspect we'll be seeing much more of each other once you're officially family."
He takes my hand, and instead of shaking it, he raises it briefly toward his lips—not quite kissing, but lingering close enough that the gesture carries undertones. "I look forward to it immensely."
Shane's stillness beside me turns dangerous. His fingers curl against the tablecloth, knuckles whitening for just a moment before he forces himself to relax.
Stellan notices. Of course he notices—the smile he offers Shane carries the satisfaction of a man who's scored a point in a game only the two of them are playing.
"Until tomorrow's presentation, cousin. Try not to work too hard."
The moment Stellan disappears through the dining room doors, Shane turns to me with an intensity that makes my breath catch.
"Stay away from him." The words come out low and fierce, stripped of his usual control. "Far away, Audrey. I mean it. Whatever game you think you're playing by welcoming him to our table, by defending me in ways that make him curious about you—stop. Stellan doesn't form connections. He forms strategies. And right now, you've just made yourself interesting to a man who destroys everything he finds interesting."
"I was trying to help," I say, defensive despite myself. "You were sitting there in hostile silence while he—"
"I know exactly what he was doing. I've watched him do it for years." Shane's gray eyes hold mine, urgent in a way I haven't seen before. "My cousin doesn't want to know you, Audrey. He wants to understand you—which sounds similar but isn't. Understanding gives him leverage. And once Stellan has leverage over something I care about, he uses it. Every single time."
The words land somewhere unexpected. Something I care about. I file that away for later examination, unsure what to do with it.
"I'll be more careful," I manage finally.
"You'll stay away from him entirely." Shane's voice leaves no room for negotiation. "That's not a request."