As Daevyn drew the Aston Martin to a halt before the Ashwyn estate, he reached across the centre console and gently took her hand before she could open the door.
"I'll show you the rest of House Vale this evening," he said. "And we can discuss the wedding plans. I also thought..." His thumb traced an absent circle across her fingers. "Perhaps your mother might like to come tomorrow. We should begin speaking with a wedding planner and the mothers will have their opinions on how things should be..."
Lysara studied him for a long moment. "I met your mother last night." She watched the expression unfold across his face with quiet satisfaction.
For perhaps the first time since she'd known him, Daevyn looked genuinely disconcerted. "You... met my mother?"
"She suggested that the next time I came to House Vale, I ought to ask you to introduce us properly."
His brows lifted another fraction.
"She also asked what I intended to do.” She added without flinching, her eyes searching his, giving him no room to evade the meaning behind the question.
For several thoughtful seconds he said nothing.
And then: "Hm."
She waited.
"If my mother invited you back..." His smile returned almost defiantly. "Then she must like you."
Disappointment was as heavy as a raincloud. She drew in a breath and squared her shoulders, pushing past it. "Is that unusual?"
He laughed softly beneath his breath, but that laugh was labored. He was trying to force levity into a situation that held none. "You have no idea."
She reached for door handle irritably. How Fae of him to evade and avoid. "I hope your meeting goes well." She closed the door between them firmly.
For a brief moment they simply looked at one another through the glass.
He seemed about to say something else, the laughter falling from his face and something more shadowed taking its place. After a long pause, he nodded as if accepting the reprimand.
She turned towards the house.
The Aston Martin remained where it was until she reached the front porch. Only when she disappeared beneath the shelter of the verandah did she hear the quiet growl of the engine as he drove slowly back down the long gravel drive.
She resisted the temptation to look back.
Inside, the familiar scent of polished timber and fresh coffee greeted her.
As she crossed the entrance hall, Elowen appeared in the doorway of the breakfast room, a porcelain teacup still in one hand.
"Good morning, darling."
"Good morning, Mama." Lysara continued towards the staircase without slowing. "I'm afraid I overslept."
"So I gathered." There was unmistakable amusement in her mother's voice, but, to Lysara's immense relief, no questions followed.
She escaped upstairs before either of her parents had an opportunity to discover how very unprepared she was for a discussion about engagements.
Having slept through dance class entirely, she settled instead for making herself a leisurely breakfast before retreating to the studio.
She tried to banish the creeping unease in familiar rituals.
Fresh linen was stretched carefully across a waiting frame. Brushes were cleaned, sorted, then rearranged despite already being perfectly ordered. Charcoal sticks found their place beside sharpened pencils, while half a dozen small thumbnail sketches accumulated upon a scrap of paper only to be discarded moments later.
She wasn't avoiding the empty canvas.
She was simply postponing the first decision.
The low growl of an approaching engine finally drew her attention shortly before two.
Looking through the studio window, she found herself smiling.
A gleaming red convertible waited at the front of the house, its paintwork catching the afternoon sunlight like polished lacquer.
It was precisely the car she would have imagined Celeste to drive.
Lysara gathered her hair into a loose ponytail as she hurried outside.
Celeste lounged comfortably behind the wheel, a silk scarf tied elegantly over her pale hair and oversized sunglasses concealing much of her face.
She looked, Lysara decided as she climbed into the passenger seat, like a glamorous actress from one of the old black-and-white films her father loved.
"There you are," Celeste declared. "Perfect timing."
"Where are we going?"
"Oh..." Celeste's smile curved mischievously. "A little gathering."
"What sort of gathering?"
"Something between an artists' salon and a very exclusive conspiracy."
Lysara laughed.
"That doesn't explain anything."
"It wasn't intended to."
Celeste guided the Porsche smoothly onto the main road.
"We're a collection of women who create beautiful things."
"You paint?"
"Oh, heavens no." She waved the suggestion away. "My talents lie in entirely different directions."
Lysara regarded her curiously.
"Then what do you contribute?"
Celeste's smile widened. "Occasionally... inspiration."
Lysara wasn't entirely convinced that answered the question either, though she understood the implication, and could immediately imagine how she would pose the blonde half-Fae woman.
"So it really is an art group?" She asked with an edge of anxiety.
"Of a sort."
"I've spent all morning preparing to begin a new painting," Lysara admitted. "Had I known, I'd have brought my paints."
"You won't need them."
"No?"
"Everything you could possibly require is already waiting."
She glanced sideways with unmistakable satisfaction.
"You'll see."