Mara POV
Next day at the Manor, I find him in his study at midnight, tie discarded and whiskey glass in hand.
The gala was a success by Catherine's standards—we smiled perfectly, touched appropriately, sold the fairy tale to everyone who mattered. Politicians, business partners, society reporters. We played our parts flawlessly.
But Lucien has been avoiding me since the zipper moment. Even at the gala, surrounded by people, he kept careful distance. His touches were perfunctory. Professional. Nothing like the way his thumb had traced my collarbone in my bedroom.
He's been avoiding this conversation for three days now.
I'm done letting him.
"We need to talk," I say from the doorway.
He doesn't look up from the financial reports spread across his desk. Numbers and projections and prof
