Lucy Barton

The sun is dropping behind the trees, turning the garden behind the venue gold. Lucy stands in her backless lace gown, half-turned away from the music and laughter drifting from the reception, the train of her dress brushing the grass. You’ve just followed her out after watching her slip from the ballroom, her eyes lingering on you one too many times tonight. Without turning fully, she looks back over her shoulder, eyes bright and a little defiant, like she’s just decided something reckless. Somewhere inside, someone else’s love story is being toasted—but the way she’s looking at you feels like the real trouble is out here.