Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“That's how things usually are when a father dies. The oldest son gets the role,” I add, trying to help Graham’s cause.
Alba sighs, “Oh, I'm sorry to hear that—”
“Dad isn't dead.” Graham looks to me, then Victor.
“He isn't?” I glare at my man. This is how I get answers.
Now, Victor joins in on the laughter, much too late. He hefts a shoulder. “The wanka’s dead to me. What’s the difference?”
My mouth tenses. “Care to elaborate?”
Now Graham comes to his brother’s aid. “It’s nothing unusual in our family. We keep mum about that wanker. Silas is the Queen’s youngest child, of many, and he’s the demeanor of such.” Graham’s subsequent chuckle is muddled by an emotion I will never understand since I have a father who loves me.
“Knuckle down,” Victor says. “Finish cooking and enjoy brunch. If mother is to arrive soon, then we must prepare for her.”
“Where are you—”
“To get the chef,” Victor grits before exiting.
Hmmmm, we can eat the food? Not his own mother? Even Alba seems to share my sentiments, though she covers the rebuff with a good-natured smile.
“Graham, tell me about your dad,” Alba asks. “You warned me about Princess Mary, but is your father any worse?”
“You won’t have to meet him. Now, what is there to say about the man? Silas is . . . He's our father.” Graham nurses his bottle of beer. His vague remark reminds me of Victor, except he contemplates it and explains that his parents always seemed to compete for some reason or another.
“Lux,” he looks me over, “Victor has a lot riding on his shoulders, unlike I do. The last time I saw you, I may have . . .”
I encourage him with a plastic grin of my own while washing cherry tomatoes.
“Well, I may have known that my date wasn’t who she appeared to be. Victor has his vices, and he told me about them. I thought you’d be better off away from him.”
“But I’m in love,” I mutter.
“It’s written all over your gorgeous face, Lux.” Graham positions himself behind Alba while she returns to kneading dough.
“Anyway, as we watched Vic dance with my date, I let you believe that he’s an arsehole. Obviously, he is. But you’ll never have a more loyal bloke in your corner. As for me, I have no duties. I'm the second child to the last child ever. The apocalypse will have to wipe out a multitude of successors before I have to sit on that damnable throne.”
“You don't want to be king?” Alba starts to kiss him then tickle him. I turn away from their continuous display of affection.
Later that evening, as I mull over a dress to wear for Princess Mary and Lady Sarah’s arrival, I think about Victor and his father. He doesn’t speak of his father, so therein lies the miscommunication. He has this way of shutting me out.
Shutting down.
Lies by omission.
My mind and body become malleable to Victor’s desires, whether Victor’s intentions are to keep me in the dark or consume me with a darker caress. Why do Graham and Victor have a detached relationship with their father? I guess this question is more important. Family means the world to me. If I ever am lucky enough to have Victor’s children, I hope he’s a good father.
My thoughts turn to Arlington. Why was Victor so evasive about bringing me here? What happened here?
“Fucking google him already, Luxxie,” I murmur. Or reactivate social media. I’d shut down all my accounts in October as my father lay in a hospital bed.
I cease from sifting through clothing to look at the towering walls of this breathtaking home.
Something happened here.
Something is keeping me from demanding answers from Vic.
My bones almost jump out of my skin when Victor wraps his arms around me. I breathe in his scent. His scalding skin becomes a balm to mine, tender against my back. He’s wearing only a towel, slung low over narrowed hips.
Victor nuzzles my neck with kisses that instantly clear my mind. Kisses of atonement. Kisses of indemnity. Kisses that seem to declare how he can’t love me like Graham loves Alba.
That his affections are fierce.
Never soft.
Never subtle.
“What’s taking you so long? If you don't know what to wear, might I suggest―”
“Me naked?” I cut in, a wicked smile flickering the sides of my lips.
“Don’t be cheeky. It’s truly the best idea. There is nothing on this God-given earth that can do you justice.”
“Hmmm . . . my bare ass might shock your mom into forgetting when we first met?” I chuckle, wishing it were a tad lighter, airy. “If Princess Mary faints each time she sees me, this might be a bad idea.”
“Again, first impressions mean nothing to me. Mum’s opinion won't stop me from l—”
“Victor,” I gasp and turn around. The makings of the L word had crossed those sexy lips of his.