Page 71 of Take Me Under

I enjoyed observing people. It helped me to understand them better so I could anticipate their actions. The stock market and crypto exchange were reactionary, and I wouldn’t have amassed my fortune if I couldn’t predict human behavior. But studying Serena was different somehow. Watching her was a lesson in grace.

I leaned back in my chair, rolling the last sip of wine over my tongue as I watched them. Sylvia’s dark hair, streaked with silver, gleamed under the dim light, the curve of her face an echo of Serena’s. She and her mother shared a closeness that was foreign to me. Their conversations seemed to move like a dance of words and silent looks of understanding. It was a kind of affection I’d never witnessed before up close—a bond that should have felt natural but instead twisted something deep in my gut.

It made me feel like an intruder.

I wasn’t the jealous type. Not in the petty, insecure way most men were. This felt like jealousy, yet different somehow. Perhaps it was my curiosity about their relationship that caused the strange, hollow ache inside me. Or maybe it was something darker. My own mother was buried in a past I rarely allowed myself to think about. Sitting at a table like this—exchanging laughter, sharing a meal—was so alien that it may as well have been fiction. I couldn’t help wonder that, if given the right opportunity and set of circumstances, my own mother and I might have had this.

I dragged my gaze from Sylvia to Serena, tracking every subtle movement and nuance of expression, needing to understand. Serena must have felt my scrutiny, and she turned. When our eyes met, everything else seemed to fade. The look she gave me was inquisitive, as if she were wondering what I was thinking. After a moment, her shoulders stiffened and something in her eyes shifted. I noticed the increasing rise andfall of her chest, and quickly realized Serena was no longer thinking about the words her mother was saying.

I glanced down, watching her fingers curl ever so slightly around her napkin. Her lips parted, just barely, and my pulse kicked up. I wanted to know what was going on behind those ocean blue eyes. The space between us grew charged with tension. It called to something central in me—to something possessive.

“Dessert?” Sylvia’s voice broke the moment. She was blissfully unaware of the silent fire igniting between her daughter and me as she reached for a small tray of pastries on the counter.

Serena blinked, bringing herself back to the present as she straightened in her chair. “None for me, thank you,” she said quickly, her voice light but firm, her eyes still tethered to mine. “Anton has had a long day of travel. I’m sure he must be exhausted.”

It took every ounce of self-control not to smirk.

“Not particularly,” I countered, keeping my tone deliberately casual.

My gaze remained steady on hers. Serena shot me a sharp look, her irritation barely masked. She feigned a yawn, but I wasn’t fooled. Not for a second.

“It’s getting late,” she persisted.

I arched a brow, amusement flickering through me.

Is this forced tiredness for my benefit, or her mother’s?

It didn’t matter. If she thought she was getting rid of me that easily, she was sorely mistaken. The dinner I’d just shared with mother and daughter was nothing more than an interlude. The real game—the one Serena and I were playing—was just beginning.

Sylvia glanced at the clock on the wall. “Oh! I didn’t even realize it was nearing ten. Time gets away from me when I’menjoying good company. You should take Anton next door before he leaves, Serena. Show him the workshop.”

The sudden shift in topic seemed to catch Serena off guard. “The workshop?”

“Yes, of course!” Sylvia’s voice was bright with enthusiasm before she turned her attention on me. “You can’t come all this way and not see it. Serena is so talented, Anton. You wouldn’t believe the things she can do with glass.”

“I’d love to see it,” I said.

Sylvia began clearing plates. “I’ll take care of cleaning up. I’m actually starting to get a little tired myself. I’ll probably turn in soon. Serena, don’t forget to lock up when you get back.”

Serena hesitated, her lips parting as if to protest, but her mother gave her a look that brooked no argument.

“Okay, Mamma.”

Sylvia turned back to me, smiling warmly. “Thank you for joining us tonight, Anton. It was a pleasure having you here.”

“The pleasure was mine,” I said, standing and offering my hand.

She took it, her grip firm and confident. “You’re always welcome in our home.”

Home.

The foreign word seemed to linger in the air as Serena grabbed a set of keys from the counter. Without another word, she led me outside.

The night was cool, a breeze carrying the faint scent of citrus through the narrow path between the house and the workshop.

“Sorry about that,” Serena said, seeming uncomfortable as we walked.

“For what?”

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