“Missus Abigail, good afternoon. Hello, Julian.” His smile is calm and familiar—nothing at all like the man I saw interacting with Landon yesterday.
“Hey,” I respond hesitantly. “How are you?”
“Good, thanks for asking.” He turns back to his prepping, giving us a view of his broad back. “Lunch will be ready in a few minutes if you want to wait.”
The family doesn’t typically have lunch together, so Abigail and I normally eat in the theater room while watching a movie. I’m assuming Barfred delivers food to the rest of the Chastains, as I never see them here around this time.
“Sure, we’ll wait.”
Barfred nods his head at my response, taking a moment to plate the food on a few separate plates.
Now that I’m taking a good look at him again, I’m realizing for the second time how handsome Barfred is. In fact, he’s more of my typical type. Strong, built, and handsome. He has the kind of face that either makes him appear to be a gentle giant or a vicious panther, depending on his expression.
If it weren’t for Atlas taking up every spare thought I have, I might even find myself curious as to what version he is in bed—if he dominates or submits.
But alas, there is only one person I want to get naked with—and something tells me that Atlas has no interest in fuckingmethe way I have a tremendous interest in getting inside ofhim.
I sincerely hope that I get to find out.
Since last night, I haven’t been able to think of much else.
“Has Young Master Atlas come down for lunch?” I ask, keeping my tone as casual as possible as I push my dirty thoughts away.
Barfred shakes his head. “Nope. I haven’t seen him since breakfast early this morning.”
“Ah, okay. Thanks.”
The cook turns and places a tray with two plates and two cups of what appears to be lemonade on it and smiles kindly. “Have a great lunch, you two.”
“Thanks, Barfred!” Abigail cheers, and I grab the tray, following her out of the kitchen. Halfway to the theater room, she speaks again. “I’m sure Atty is fine. He keeps to himself sometimes.”
I peer down at her, taking in her concerned expression as she watches me. “Huh?”
“You looked upset that Atlas hasn’t come down for lunch, but he’s probably fine. Sometimes he hides away a lot.” Abigail’s voice is reassuring and kind, her eyes wide.
It must be showing on my face—the disappointment that I haven’t encountered him today.
“Thanks, Missus Abigail.”
“Plus, he might be in a flare-up. When he gets sick, we don’t see him for days,” she tacks on.
Atlas… in a flare-up? Could he be? Do they happen every time he’s touched by the incubus thing?
If so, I did tell him that the next time he’s so overwhelmed, I’d help him. That I’d cool him off.
“Why are you smiling like that?” Abigail asks, her eyes narrowing.
“Like what?” I question.
“Like you’re pleased.”
A bubble of delight forms inside of me, making me feel warm and full. Iampleased. Not because he’s suffering—for that I feel terrible—but because I finally know what the first action I should take is in order to help him.
I school my features. “Let’s eat.”
We have our lunch while watching an old-school cartoon that Abigail loves, and then we finish out the day in the music room as she practices the piano.
I quite enjoy that Abigail is so mature. Her tutors and her family’s eloquent way of speaking and acting make her very pleasant company, even at such a young age. Yet she still carries the charm of youth, playing with her toys and running around to expend energy.
