Page 49 of Her Nightshade

“I love you too,” she replied softly. “We’re a package deal, Charlie. You have to remember that.”

“I know. I’ll remember,” I promised, though the knot of doubt in my chest didn’t entirely fade.

As she held me, whispering reassurances I didn’t deserve, my thoughts turned sour. Sloane wasn’t the problem. She was protective and I couldn’t fault her for loving her mum enough to worry. But I knew Callan was a different story. I could feel his fingerprints all over this. He probably had been dropping hints, making little comments to Sloane about how I wasn’t right for Ana, how I was “too much.” He barely hid his disdain for me since Ana and I have been together, so why wouldn’t he use Sloane to make his point?

He had no right to weigh in on Ana’s life or shape how Sloane saw me.

It made my skin crawl. Callan didn’t know me. He didn’t see what Ana and I had. All he saw was an opportunity to plant doubt, to play the steady, reliable presence while I got painted as some reckless wildcard. And Sloane probably didn’t even realize she was carrying his words when she called me intense, when she told Ana I was too much. She didn’t deserve my anger.

I forced myself to push the bitterness down. Ana didn’t need to see me tense and wound up. She had already forgiven me for what happened with Sarah, then reassured me after Sloane’s visit, and the last thing I wanted was to give her more reasons to doubt me.

But as I held her, burying my face in the curve of her shoulder, I couldn’t help the thought:If it weren’t for him, maybe Sloane wouldn’t even have these doubts in the first place.

My need for digging up something on Callan was now my priority. I didn’t know what I was looking for yet. Maybe there was nothing at all to find. But I wasn’t going to sit back and let him sabotage me in Ana’s life. If there was a weakness in his armor, I’d find it.

21

Ana

The media hounded me and Charlie as we left our cottage at the Chateau Marmont, the flashes of cameras relentless against the tinted windows of the black car. With everything that happened at the Grammys, we were in every headline. Every gossip site had an opinion, every talk show dissected our relationship. My team didn’t know what to do with it. My publicist had been clear:Ignore it. Don’t address it.

I agreed. What could I possibly say that hadn’t already been shown? The message was clear: Charlie and I were together, in love.

But my chest felt tight, the pressure of the past few days mounting. The chaos didn’t seem to touch Charlie; he embraced it with ease, his confidence unwavering. But for me, it was like a storm I couldn’t escape, the winds whipping faster with every headline and whispered judgment.

“You okay?” Charlie asked softly, his hand resting on mine as the car sped towards Sloane and Callan’s house.

We planned to have lunch before Charlie and I headed back to New York, but Charlie suddenly claimed he had a “meeting.” I didn’t question him; he was still tense about the conversation Sloane and I had the other day, and I didn’t even want to know what he was thinking about Callan anymore.

“I’m fine,” I said, forcing a small smile. “Are you?”

“I’m great,” he replied, his grin wide and genuine. “As long as you are.”

I nodded, though my stomach churned. I couldn’t shake the anxiety lingering from my last conversation with Sloane. The way we had left things didn’t sit right with me and I wasn’t sure how today would unfold.

When we arrived, Charlie leaned over, pressing a soft kiss to my lips. “Text me when you’re ready, okay? I’ll be close.”

“Okay, baby,” I replied, feigning confidence as anxiety swarmed in my chest. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

I entered the gate code at the private entrance to Callan and Sloane’s Spanish-style 1920s renovated home in Hancock Park. Sloane stood waiting for me at the door, her smile warm but tinged with hesitation. The unease between us lingered, faint but present. I hated when things were like this—thankfully, it wasn’t often.

“Hi, mama,” she said, pulling me into a tight hug.

“Hola, mi niña,” I said, squeezing her back.

She held on a little longer. “I hate how we left things last time. I’m sorry for coming at you like that,” she said as she let go.

I took her hands, shaking my head gently. “Don’t be sorry, baby,” I said, though I could sense the conversation wasn’t over.

We walked into the bright living room, sunlight streaming through the windows. Sloane’s green thumb was clearlyapparent in her space, with plants hanging and potted in every corner.

“You saidIhad a lot of plants,” I teased, glancing around. “Look at you—you’ve doubled the number since the last time I was here.”

Sloane laughed, her tension softening for a moment. “There’s a great nursery down the street. I can’t help myself,” she replied.

Callan appeared from the dining room beside the kitchen, giving me a cautious smile. “Hey, Ana.”

“Hey. Food smells great.You’recooking?” I teased, trying to lighten the mood.

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