Page 14 of Lady and the Butcher
“Likewise,” I replied, my tone perfectly polite but probably not fooling her. “Stephen’s told me … a few things.” Which wasn’t true. He hadn’t mentioned a girlfriend at all.
Alicia laughed, and it was a pleasant sound—genuine, even. “All lies, I’m sure.”
We made small talk about the party, the venue, the weather. She asked about The Nesting Place and actually seemed interested, nodding along as I explained the concept. But every so often, she’d glance at Stephen in that way people do when they’re subtly checking in with their person. It wasn’t bad—just … noticeable.
I wanted to dislike her. Truly. But then she made a joke about Stephen’s obsession with craft bitters and how he now carried tiny bottles in his glove compartment “like some people carry mace,” and I laughed, in spite of myself.
Maybe she wouldn’t be terrible after all.
The night stretched on, the lights glowing warmer, the conversations loosening as the drinks flowed. I floated between groups, catching up with a few of Stephen’s old college buddies, listening to a tipsy woman tell me about her rescue pug’s gluten intolerance, and politely dodging a man who insisted I try his “signature” dance move.
I was mid-laugh at something Alicia had said when I felt it.
That prickling.
The one you get when you know someone’s watching you.
My gaze drifted toward the far edge of the lawn, where the crowd thinned near the oak line. And there he was.
Tall. Lean. Dangerous in a way that didn’t announce itself so much as … hum beneath the surface. His light hair was slicked back just enough to show the sharp lines of his face, and a shadow of stubble framed a mouth that was more curve than kindness. His suit was black, the shirt open at the collar, no tie—unbothered but intentional.
And then there was the tattoo.
A large, bold piece inked across his neck. I hadn’t clocked it at first. When he turned a certain way, or when his throat fell into shadow, it all but disappeared, but when the light hit, it stood out like a dare. From here, I could make out a butcher’s cleaver inked like a totem—the broad blade filled with a skull, hollow eyes and bared teeth, a rose blooming at the base, and licks of flame curling along the edges. No script, just brutal art that sent my imagination down a few questionable roads.
Stephen appeared at my elbow, following my line of sight.
“Oh,” he said, like he’d just spotted an old friend he wasn’t sure he wanted to see. “That’s Atticus.”
The name rolled through me like whiskey—warm, burning, impossible to ignore.
“Friend of yours?” I asked, keeping my tone casual.
“We go back to freshman year of college,” Stephen said, though his voice had shifted, subtle caution threading through it. “He’s … good people.”
Good people. Right. And I’m the queen of England.
I tilted my head toward Stephen, lowering my voice. “And why, exactly, have I never heard about him before? You’re usually terrible at keeping secrets—unless you’ve suddenly decided to start.”
Stephen gave me a sly little smile, the kind that said he was enjoying himself far too much. “Because you might’ve gotten ideas,” he said simply. “And I wasn’t ready for that kind of chaos.”
As if sensing us, Atticus looked over. Even from here, I could tell his eyes were blue—how bright, I couldn’t say—but they caught and held mine. No smile, no nod, just a steady, assessing look that made my pulse trip.
I should’ve looked away. Instead, I took a sip of my drink, pretending the bubbles in the rosé were the reason my breath hitched.
Stephen clapped my shoulder. “Come on, I’ll introduce you.”
And just like that, we were walking across the lawn, the crowd thinning until it was just the three of us beneath the moss-draped oaks.
Up close, the tattoo was even more striking. Scary, but striking.
“Simone, this is Atticus,” Stephen said.
Atticus’s gaze flicked to Stephen, then back to me. He offered his hand, his grip firm, warm, a fraction longer than necessary.
“Simone,” he said, my name low and deliberate, like he was testing it on his tongue.
Something in my stomach tightened. And I knew—without knowing why—that my life had just shifted on its axis.
