The next few days passed in a strange blur for Evan. He moved through the mansion with a mix of awe and awkwardness, gradually growing accustomed to its luxuries. Each new experience—a meal served by a silent, attentive staff, the comfort of lounging in opulent furniture, or even the sheer quiet of the sprawling halls—was both exhirating and alien. He couldn’t help but marvel at the effortless wealth he now called his own, but it was tinged with the surreal awareness that this life wasn’t truly his.

  At least, not yet.

  On the morning of his etiquette lesson, Evan found himself in one of the smaller drawing rooms. The walls were lined with finely crafted shelves dispying expensive trinkets, and sunlight poured through tall windows draped in elegant curtains. A polished desk was set up near the center, where a stern looking man in his fifties—Ms. Merriweather, his etiquette tutor—was preparing his materials. His sharp eyes and impeccable posture made him seem as if he could spot even the smallest fw from across the room.

  Evan gnced down at the delicate pen he’d pced in front of him, its silver and pearl design screaming fragility. Next to it was a sheet of high-quality paper with evenly spaced lines.

  “Today,” Ms. Merriweather began, his tone clipped and precise, “we will focus on refining your penmanship and your carriage. A gentleman of your standing must carry himself with grace and elegance, both in movement and in writing.”

  Evan fought the urge to roll his eyes. Right, because everyone’s dying to see how pretty my handwriting is. But he bit back the comment, reminding himself of the trade-off: luxury, security, and, admittedly, some relief from the pressures of his old life.

  He picked up the pen, its weight unfamiliar in his hand, and positioned it over the paper.

  “Now, remember to be delicate,” Mr. Merriweather instructed. “Your grip should be light but controlled, your strokes fluid but intentional.”

  Evan nodded, mimicking his posture. His memories told him he’d done this before, but it was like his instincts were betraying him. As someone from the world he’d left behind, he wasn’t used to handling such dainty tools. His grip tightened as he tried to form the first letter, the nib digging into the paper.

  “Gently!” Mr. Merriweather snapped.

  The pen tip cracked with an audible snap. Ink spttered across the paper, and Evan froze.

  The tutor sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Again.”

  Behind him, Sienna had strolled into the room unnoticed. She leaned casually against the wall, watching the scene unfold with a barely concealed smirk. Evan caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye, and her presence only heightened his self-consciousness.

  Grumbling under his breath, Evan picked up a new pen. This time, he eased his grip, his strokes slow and deliberate.

  “Better,” Mr. Merriweather conceded, though his tone was less than enthusiastic. “But your pacing is uneven. A gentleman’s writing should be as refined as his demeanor.”

  Evan’s jaw tightened. “Got it,” he muttered, trying to rein in his irritation.

  It took several more attempts—and a lot of frustration—but he eventually managed to write a line of passable script. Before he could even set the pen down, Sienna cpped her hands dramatically, the sound echoing through the room.

  “Bravo!” she teased, stepping closer with an exaggerated grin. “You finally did it!”

  Evan shot her a gre, his ears burning. “Couldn’t have done it without your support,” he said sarcastically.

  “Anytime,” she quipped, her grin widening as she leaned over his shoulder to inspect his work. Her hair brushed against his arm, and the familiar scent of her perfume wafted to his nose—a fruity, almost candy-like citrus fragrance that made his heart skip a beat.

  Evan stiffened slightly, a strange mix of emotions swirling inside him. The scent tugged at a memory. It was a perfume that ‘Evan’ had given her years ago, a childish gift from an awkward younger brother who had no idea what women liked. Apparently, she’d kept using it, and now the innocent sweetness of it felt oddly disarming.

  It was such a contrast to her confident demeanor, and for a moment, he wondered if she wore it out of habit or sentiment. Either way, it caught him off guard, making her proximity even more distracting.

  Mr. Merriweather, unamused, cleared his throat. “If we’re quite finished with the theatrics, we shall move on to posture and movement.”

  Evan groaned inwardly. As Mr. Merriweather demonstrated how to walk with what he called “graceful confidence,” Evan followed his lead, or at least tried to. His strides were too firm, his turns too abrupt.

  “Too rigid,” he barked. “Rex your shoulders, but do not slouch. Lighten your steps. You’re not marching into battle.”

  Evan suppressed the urge to snap back, instead adjusting his movements as best he could.

  Behind him, Sienna was clearly enjoying the show. She didn’t interrupt, but her barely contained ughter spoke volumes.

  When Mr. Merriweather finally concluded the lesson and left the room, Evan sank into a chair, rubbing his temples.

  “Rough day?” Sienna asked, leaning against the desk with her arms crossed.

  He gnced at her, exhausted but managing a weak smile. “You could say that.”

  She tilted her head, her expression turning thoughtful. “You’re usually not this clumsy. I mean, you’re not exactly a pro at this stuff, but you’ve never broken a pen before. What’s going on with you?”

  Evan hesitated, struggling to find an answer. “I guess I’m just… still adjusting. There’s a lot on my mind.”

  Sienna’s pyful demeanor softened, her teasing smile fading into something more understanding. “I get it,” she said quietly. “The engagement, the expectations... It's a lot. But you’ll get the hang of it.”

  Evan nodded, grateful that she seemed to interpret his awkwardness as nerves about their engagement.

  “Still,” she added, her smirk returning as she straightened up. “You’ve got to admit, it’s a little funny watching you struggle. Don’t worry, though. I’ll always be here to cheer you on.”

  Evan groaned, covering his face with his hands. “You’re impossible.”

  Sienna chuckled and walked over to him, her eyes sparkling with amusement. She hesitated for a moment, then reached out and began to massage his shoulders, her fingers digging deep into his muscles. Evan's eyes fluttered closed as he felt a rush of rexation wash over him. "Ah, that feels amazing," he sighed.

  As the tension in his shoulders began to ease, Sienna's hands moved down to the base of his neck, her fingers tracing a gentle path along his spine. Evan's breathing slowed, and he felt his body begin to rex even further.

  And then, her hands drifted lower, her fingers brushing against the colr of his shirt before slowly etching a gentle pattern near his upper chest. Evan's mind didn't really register it at first, too caught up in the pleasant sensation. But when Sienna paused and asked, "You're not... stopping me?" her voice tinged with curiosity, it jolted him back to reality.

  He then realized that he was supposed to stop her. Men in this world are supposed to be reserved, not open to such intimate contact. Even though he was enjoying Sienna’s weird massage, he realized that he had to act ‘proper’.

  "Wait, stop," he said, suddenly, his voice firm as he caught her wrists and gently but firmly pulled her hands away from his chest. Sienna's eyes sparkled with amusement, and she raised an eyebrow.

  "Evan," she said, her voice sweet and melodic, with a hint of pyful teasing. "You're so... defenseless tely. I have to admit, I kind of like it."

  Too close. Evan's face burned with embarrassment, and he looked away, trying to compose himself. "I'm just... tired, that's all," he muttered.

  Sienna chuckled and leaned in even closer, her breath whispering against his ear. "Well, maybe I'll just have to help you with that tiredness," she whispered.

  Evan felt a shiver run down his spine at her words, and he hastily pulled away, trying to distance himself from the sudden flutter in his chest. But as he met her gaze, the spark of mischief in her eyes made one thing clear—she’d keep making such moves to make him flustered unless he found a way to turn the tables.

  LunarEcho