There’s a happy bounce in my step as I skip to the dining room for my last breakfast with my sullen boss.
Yay. I can’t wait for this hell to be over, and for me to start thinking about other things.
To celebrate my good fortune, I’m going to be on my absolute best behavior this morning. I will not be disappointed when Lord Augustus isn’t half as lovely to me as he is to his horse. Nope. I won’t care at all. I won’t look to see if he’s noticed me, and I might not even breathe in his general vicinity to check if he still smells like nothing.
The only thing I care about is not being subjected to these awful, stilted meals any longer.
Lord Augustus breezes in, disturbing the air around him and leaving it no time to recover. He’s wearing tailored trousers and a cashmere sweater with a collared shirt underneath. The collar is impeccably pressed, the top button undone. It’s a casual look on him, and unfortunately, there’s no denying he wears it well. Like a second skin. Like something that’s been sprayed onto him and moves with him instead of against him.
My resolve shakes slightly, but I quickly remind myself that wearing clothes like second skin and looking that good in cashmere are both excellent reasons to spend as little time with him as possible.
I get to my feet and bow my head awkwardly, tilting it at an odd angle, until he takes his seat.
I’m honestly still not sure what all this standing when people enter the room is about. I have no idea if it’s something he does because he’s the host, or if it’s because he’s an alpha and I’m anomega, or if it’s because he went to public school and is noble, or what.
I’ve yet to work out if I’m supposed to stand or remain seated when he enters the room. But I stood when he arrived by mistake a few weeks ago, and now I’m not sure how to stop doing it without drawing attention to the fact that I don’t know my ass from my ear.
All I know is that whenever I’m in a room when he makes his appearance, I make a complete hash of greeting him. I either stand or half-stand. Sometimes I bow my head, sometimes I don’t. There’s no telling how I’m going to greet him from day to day. It’s fucking stressful.
It’s gotten so out of hand that my wildly unintelligent heart has started to announce his arrival by beating out of my chest.
Lord Augustus thanks Sid for his tea, and when Sid darts off to get our breakfast, he turns in his seat, focusing his full attention on me. Something about the gesture is so novel, so new that I can tell immediately that I’ve never had Lord Augustus’s attention fully focused on me before.
His attention is hot, uncomfortably sweltering, and unbearably heavy.
It makes me squirm in my seat as my ass starts to sweat.
At least, I hope to God that’s sweat.
Lord Augustus’s face remains passive, and there’s something incredibly disconcerting about it, given that he’s looking straight at me and unnerving the living fuck out of me.
“Mrs. Thompson tells me you’d like to take your meals in the kitchen in the future.” He slowly raises an expectant brow as he waits for me to reply.
Oh God.
This is awful.
He’s unhappy.
I’ve upset him.
Oh no. Oh please. Not this. Anything but this. I can’t handle upsetting handsome men. Even if they’re complete assholes. My nervous system can’t take it.
“I, um…” I frantically search the dusty, vacant lot that is my mind for a suitable reply. I hate upsetting people with my whole heart and soul. Absolutely hate it. Can’t bear it. I’d love to deny the whole thing, and if not for the fact that Mrs. Thompson has been unfailingly kind to me, I’m pretty sure I’d be tempted to throw her under the bus and tell Lord Augustus she made the whole thing up. I can’t do it though. I’ll never sleep again if I do. “I, er, that’s right,” I choke.
He fixes his gaze on me for the longest time. So long that my insides whither and I have time to deeply regret every decision that has brought me to this point in my life. So long that I forget how to blink. So long that my cheeks heat and my eyes sting.
At long,longlast, he blinks and releases me from the fiery wrench of his gaze. I slump back in my chair, infinitely relieved that the suffocating burden of his eyes has been rescinded.
My relief is premature, though, because Lord Augustus places the tip of his tongue behind his front teeth and allows air to pass over his larynx. A pair of perfect lips pucker and then part. Sound travels slowly toward me in the form of two little letters.
“No.”
He speaks quietly. So calmly, and so casually, I think I must have misheard him. “P-pardon?”
This time, he flicks his eyes at me firmly and, in doing so, pins the back of my skull to my chair. “I said, ‘No.’”
He’s still perfectly calm, and his voice is still quiet, but there’s a force behind it that can’t possibly be missed.
