Chapter 2 — Courtship of Conflicts
Teagan
The courtyard buzzed with a warmth that seeped into every corner—the kind of warmth that made Teagan feel both out of place and vaguely suffocated. Strings of delicate lights swayed gently between olive trees, casting golden hues over the long dinner table adorned with mismatched plates, hand-painted wine carafes, and sprigs of rosemary. The air was alive with the aroma of fresh basil, roasted garlic, and the faint sweetness of lavender carried on the evening breeze. Lydia’s animated voice rang above the hum of conversation, introducing family members and friends with her characteristic enthusiasm.
Teagan lingered on the fringes, her back half-turned to the crowd. Her wine glass was a steady weight in one hand; her other hand toyed with the leather bracelet on her wrist, her thumb tracing the strap’s edges as though grounding herself. She had chosen her seat carefully—at the far end of the table, away from the center of the chatter and laughter. Her green eyes moved over the gathering like a lens, cataloging faces, body language, and exits. It was an instinct she couldn’t turn off, not even here. Especially not here.
Then she caught the sound of his laugh.
Aidan Brooks. His voice—low and rich—rolled through the courtyard, rising above the others for a brief moment before it melted back into the ebb and flow of conversation. Against her better judgment, her gaze followed the sound, locking on him almost instantly. He was near the head of the table, standing close to Anthony, his posture relaxed yet effortlessly commanding. The flickering light caught the angles of his jaw, the slight curl of his dark hair above his collar. He smiled at something Anthony had said, the lift of his mouth both maddeningly familiar and infuriatingly unchanged.
Teagan’s stomach twisted. It wasn’t fair that he could still look like that—like someone untouched by regret, someone who had never wrestled with the ghosts of the past. Her jaw tensed, the leather bracelet biting into her palm as she tightened her grip on it.
“Teagan! There you are.”
Lydia’s voice broke through the swirl of irritation in her mind. Her best friend appeared at her side, a bottle of wine in one hand and a knowing gleam in her eye. Teagan braced herself.
“You’ve been hiding,” Lydia teased, pouring more wine into Teagan’s glass before she could protest. “This is a party, Teags. You’re supposed to mingle.”
“I’m here,” Teagan replied dryly, holding up her glass as though it were proof of attendance.
“Barely.” Lydia leaned closer, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “You know he’s been looking at you, right?”
Teagan didn’t need to ask who “he” was. She felt her pulse quicken, but her tone was ice-cold. “Let him look. Doesn’t mean I have to care.”
Lydia sighed, her expression softening. “You know he’s not—”
“I know exactly who he is,” Teagan interrupted sharply, her voice cutting like glass. “And I’m not interested in revisiting history.”
Before Lydia could respond, Anthony’s deep voice boomed across the courtyard, redirecting attention like a spotlight. “Lydia! Stop hoarding our resident cynic. Bring her over before she vanishes into the night with the fairy lights.”
Lydia laughed, unperturbed by the glare Teagan leveled at her. “Come on,” she said, tugging lightly at Teagan’s arm. “For me? Just for a little while?”
Teagan hesitated, her resistance wavering against the weight of their friendship. With a sharp exhale, she relented. “Fine. But I’m not staying long.”
As Lydia guided her toward the table, Teagan felt the tension tighten in her chest. Each step closer seemed to amplify the energy in the air, a weight that settled uncomfortably on her shoulders. She was acutely aware of Aidan’s presence—an invisible pull that she refused to acknowledge. When they reached the table, she kept her eyes fixed on a neutral point—anywhere but him.
“Teagan, good to see you again,” Anthony greeted warmly, raising his glass. “Wine in hand, glaring like you’re ready to stab someone. Classic Teagan.”
“Someone has to keep you in line,” she shot back, her tone light but edged with her usual dry humor. Anthony laughed, flashing his easy grin.
And then…
“Teagan.”
Aidan’s voice was quieter now, deliberate. She felt it more than heard it, a ripple in the atmosphere that drew her gaze to him despite herself. He stood with his glass tilted casually in one hand, but his posture betrayed an almost imperceptible tension. The flickering lights reflected in his striking blue eyes, their intensity subdued but no less penetrating.
“It’s been a while,” he said, his tone measured.
Her expression didn’t waver. “Brooks,” she replied flatly.
His mouth curved into a faint smile—wry, almost self-deprecating. “Still sticking to last names, I see.”
“It’s efficient.”
Anthony chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. “You two should sit together,” he suggested with a grin. “Nothing like a little forced proximity to—”
“Don’t,” Teagan cut in sharply, her voice slicing through his sentence. Her green eyes flicked to him, daring him to push further.
Anthony raised his hands in mock surrender, though the mischief in his gaze lingered.
“Alright, everyone,” Lydia interjected, her tone cheerful but firm. “Let’s focus on this amazing dinner. No dramatics, please.”
Teagan lowered herself into a chair, ensuring a deliberate amount of space between herself and Aidan. She focused on her plate as conversation swirled around the table, determined to remain an observer. But Aidan, it seemed, had other plans.
“So, Teagan,” he began, his voice light but steady. “What’s kept you busy these days?”
Her eyes flicked up to meet his, her expression unreadable. “Work.”
“Still in self-defense?”
“Yes.”
“It suits you,” he said thoughtfully. “You’ve always been determined.”
The unexpected compliment threw her off balance for a split second, though she masked it quickly. “Is that so?” she replied coolly. “I don’t recall you being particularly observant back then.”
He winced faintly, but his smile remained. “Fair enough. I wasn’t at my best.”
“That’s putting it mildly.” Her reply was cutting, sharp enough to draw the attention of those seated nearby. Lydia shifted uncomfortably, while Anthony’s grin widened as though he were enjoying a private joke.
For a moment, something flickered in Aidan’s expression—a shadow of hesitation, regret. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, meant solely for her. “I deserved that. I’m not asking for anything right now, Teagan. Just… don’t write me off entirely.”
Her fingers tightened around her glass, the tension radiating up her arm. She wanted to dismiss him, to bury the faint, unwelcome tug of sincerity in his voice. But the memories of his arrogance, his careless words—they were too vivid, too sharp to let go.
“Enjoy your dinner, Aidan,” she said finally, her tone cold as stone.
The conversation around the table moved on, leaving Aidan to lean back in his chair with a quiet sigh. Teagan refused to look at him again, but his presence lingered at the edges of her awareness, heavy and unrelenting.
Later, as the evening began to wind down and laughter softened into a gentle murmur, Teagan retreated to the courtyard’s edge. The cool night air kissed her skin, carrying the mingling scents of lavender and wine. She tilted her head back, staring at the string lights above as they flickered softly against the darkening sky.
“Teagan?”
Lydia’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. Her best friend approached cautiously, concern etched into her expression.
“You okay?” Lydia asked gently, her arm brushing against Teagan’s.
“I’m fine,” Teagan replied automatically. Her voice was steady, but the tightness in her shoulders betrayed her.
Lydia hesitated before slipping an arm around her. “He’s trying, you know,” she murmured. “Aidan. He really is.”
Teagan didn’t respond. Couldn’t. Her walls were built too high, too solid, to let anyone—especially Aidan—breach them. And yet…
Her gaze lingered on the courtyard, on the warmth she always kept at a distance. For a fleeting moment, something cracked—a hairline fracture in the armor she’d spent years perfecting.
It terrified her.
But she didn’t pull away.
