Dancing with a stranger

Chapter |11✨

It had been over two weeks since I'd arrived at the cottage. I hadn't left once. Steele left only for a few hours at a time, and when he returned, we occasionally ate together, but that was it. He slept upstairs; I stayed in my room.

Today I was supposed to meet Sheryl at 3:00 PM. A glance at the clock told me it was 2:45. She had been sent here directly by Mr. Everett.

I was sitting in the living room, half-watching TV, when a knock at the door pulled me from my thoughts. I opened it to see an older woman—Sheryl—standing there, with another woman holding bags behind her.

"Come in," I said, stepping aside.

I led them to the living room and turned off the TV. "I'm Sheryl, and this is Melinda, my assistant," she introduced herself, shaking my hand. Melinda looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn't place her.

Sheryl handed me a thick black book. Inside were pages filled with dresses, cakes, and wedding details. She flipped through, pointing out pages she'd already marked for me.

I had never imagined planning a wedding this soon. Page after page, nothing felt like me. The dresses were beautiful, but old-fashioned. The cakes extravagant, but impersonal.

After hours, I finally settled on a two-tier rose gold cake with flowers spiraling up the side. The food would have to wait—I still hadn't found a dress.

When they finally left, I made a mental note to train with Ashton tomorrow. I needed the routine, the control, the sense of normalcy.

Steele still hadn't returned, so I decided to make dinner. Noodles, vegetables, chicken—and a glass of wine. I stirred the noodles, savoring the quiet, when the door opened.

"Hey," Steele greeted, sauntering in as though he owned the place. I offered a polite smile.

"I'm making dinner," I said, checking on the noodles and stirring in the vegetables and shrimp. When it was ready, I plated our food and sat down.

"Thank you," he said, taking a bite.

A few minutes later, he started choking. My heart lurched. "What's wrong?" I asked, panic rising.

He pointed to a bag. I dug through it and found an EpiPen. Following his instructions, I injected it into his leg.

Once he calmed down, he sipped water, looking sheepish. "Sorry. You didn't know I'm allergic to shellfish."

"Well, we don't really know each other," I replied, leaning back.

For the first time, Steele wasn't acting like an ass. "Let's actually talk," I suggested. "Beyond knowing we're part of the same messed-up family."

I grabbed a pizza from the freezer and popped it in the oven. "Keep it simple," I added, trying to lighten the mood.

We spent the next hour asking each other random questions. "Favorite color?" he asked.

"Red," I replied.

"Blue," he said, grinning.

"Favorite food?"

"Sushi."

"Nachos," he said, chuckling. "Everything on them—chili, cheese, jalapeños, diced tomatoes."

By the time evening rolled around, I was exhausted but oddly lighter. Steele went upstairs to his room, leaving me in the quiet.

The next morning, I woke at 6:30 to get ready for training with Ashton. The remote location of the cottage made the commute longer than expected.

Ashton was already stretching when I arrived. "Where the hell have you been?" he asked, high-fiving me.

"Family stuff," I shrugged.

We started with stretching, then kicked off drills: punches, kicks, and Jiu-Jitsu techniques. By 9:30, I was sweaty, sore, and satisfied.

"Looking good," Ashton said with a grin as we wrapped up.

Walking back, I sensed Steele before I saw him. He was pacing, his face stormy.

"Where the hell have you been?" His voice was cold. "You're supposed to tell me if you leave the house. Do you understand?"

I froze. "Yes," I whispered, feeling like a deer caught in headlights.

I retreated to my room, locking the bathroom door behind me. Stripping off my sweaty clothes, I turned on the hot water, letting it wash away the tension