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It also gave no lineage. Sure, they mention a few names here and there, but mostly, it reads like a fluff piece in a local newspaper. I got more information from Landon and Milo yesterday than I did from this massive ‘historical book.’
Frustrated, I slam the cover closed and stare out the window, surprised to realize it’s almost nightfall. Checking my phone, I see it’s nearly dinner time. Roxanne assured me jeans and a sweater were perfectly fine attire for most nights, so I head downstairs.
I’m sitting at the table alone when the staff brings in dinner.
“Shouldn’t I wait for Uncle Dom, or Roxanne?” I ask, confused.
The red-headed maid, Mary, shakes her head. “Oh no, miss, it’s just you tonight. The others are in town for a meeting.” She dips her head and scurries back to the kitchen.
My heart drops. No one, not even Roxanne, texted me all day, or even said boo to me since breakfast. Now I’m in this massive and ornate room, with a feast set before me on a table that seats eight, and I’m alone. I didn’t realize until now how much I’d gotten used to Roxanne’s constant company in the last year. I thought I was chafing at the bit for freedom, when in fact I was just getting used to being looked after. And clearly the staff here are doing a fine job of looking after me. But it isn’t the same; I’m still lonely.
Deciding, I stand and march into the kitchen. There’s a riotous noise as soon as I pass through the door. The staff eat their dinner, teasing each other and sitting in the barstools along the countertop. Mr. Carson and Mrs. Dowling sit at a small breakfast nook in the corner, observing the others like amused parents with bickering children. A smile spreads across my lips; this feels better, more homey. I slip out before they notice me and retrieve my plate, then walk back into the kitchen and step up to an empty seat at the counter.
A stunned silence falls over the group, several of their faces reddening at my presence.
“Miss Layla, is there something wrong with your food?” William, the head chef, looks concerned. He’s a bear of a man with a bright ginger beard and the entire chef’s outfit, complete with the puffy muffin-looking hat.
“No, not at all! I just… don’t want to eat in there by myself. Do you guys mind if I eat in here with you? It’s a lot more cozy.”
They all look incredibly uncomfortable, like they don’t know what to say, and my heart sinks again.Stupid, Layla.
“I’m sorry. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. This is your space. I see that now. I won’t force myself on you. But if any of you would like, you’re welcome to join me in the dining room. It would be my pleasure.” I bite my tongue to hold in the tears and collect my plate quietly, retreating to the dining room alone.
Hushed whispers follow me, but I don’t understand what they said. I settle back in my seat and prepare for a lonely dinner, letting the tears trickle down my cheeks. Why not? There’s no one to witness them, anyway. I’m tempted to text Milo or Landon, but I don’t know what to say to them other than whining that I’m lonely and that’s definitely not a good look. Since I barely know them, it’s probably best if I don’t dump my negativity all over them just yet. I’m too upset to say anything pleasant to Roxanne right now, and that basically rounds out my contact list.
I’m just picking at my green beans when the kitchen door swings open, and Mr. Carson walks through carrying a plate and a water glass.
“Do you mind if I join you, Miss Layla?” He stands stiff as a board and addresses me formally in his gravelly tone.
My lips curl into a smile, and I swipe a sleeve over my face to dry my cheeks. “Please, have a seat, Mr. Carson.”
He sits and begins eating without saying a word. Following his lead, I dig into my dinner with renewed appetite.
We don’t exchange words, just eat in silence together. I don’t know if he drew the short straw or volunteered to join me.
But either way, I’m extremely grateful for his presence.
ChapterSeven
Layla
* * *
I wake, gasping, and sit up in bed. Once again, I had a wolf dream. But unlike the previous two, this one was terrifying. My heart pounds so hard it feels like it might escape the cage of my chest. Instead of running through the forest with friends, I was fending off attacks from much larger wolves with sharp teeth and vicious claws. I knew they wanted to kill me, and I fought with all my strength.
But I was losing.
I soaked my tank top and shorts in sweat, and the middle of the giant bed where I lay.
Yuck.
I throw back the covers and stumble toward my closet, grateful for the chill in the air to chase the heat from my skin. My heart slows, and I change into clean pajamas before swiping a bottle of water from my new fridge and returning to bed.
After rearranging the pillows so I have a dry corner to sleep on, I settle back and try to conjure up more details.
There was a clearing in the woods, and wolves of all shapes and sizes surrounded me. I was a wolf, albeit a small one compared to the others. But we were playing like dogs do, frolicking around in the moonlight.
Then three hulking beasts attacked me at once, and none of the other wolves came to help me. They backed away, whimpering, and watched.
