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12
EVER
It’s the crack of dawn, and I’ve barely slept despite my exhaustion. I need coffee, so I’m going to have to move in the direction of downstairs, which I was trying to avoid for as long as possible. Hopefully, none of the guys will be up already.
No such luck.
The moment I step into the kitchen, I’m like a trapped rat.
Alistair is lounging near the far counter, looking every bit the Duke he is. His posture screams power, even as he laughs at something Damien says. Damien’s in the corner, shrouded in shadows that match his dark attire. He’s got this intense look on his face like he’s calculating his next move in a strategic game, only he knows he’s playing. Benedict, perched on a stool at the kitchen island, his eyes thoughtful, probably pondering some deep philosophical theory.
“Ever,” Charles greets me, his voice laced with a carefree charm that seems to come naturally to him.He’s sitting on the counter, holding a mug of coffee that smells delicious, a vintage T-shirt clinging to his torso in a way that’s both casual and a little showy. His hazel eyes twinkle with mischief. He is the only one in the room who doesn’t seem weighed down by some heavy ancestral legacy.
“Oh, hi,” I murmur, my voice steadier than I feel. Observing them and their ease with each other, the way their personalities clash and meld, is like watching a play where everyone knows their part except me. I should say something witty and join the banter, but instead, I hover by the door, feeling like an intruder in their polished, privileged world. “I didn’t expect anyone else up.”
Cringing at the lameness, it doesn’t seem like they care.
Benedict’s voice cuts through the hum of their debate, “Ever, would you like to sit?” His eyes hold a calm inquiry, yet I sense layers beneath his simple offer.
“Okay,” I murmur and edge closer to them. The stool is comfortable and hugs my ass, still feeling every bit the outsider even sitting down.
Around me, the conversation spirals into territories of philosophy and ethics, topics that are galaxies away from my day-to-day worries about term papers and rent. Alistair throws out a point about moral relativism with a confidence that commands attention, while Damien counters with a sharp-edged insight into human behaviour.
My gaze flickers to Charles, who flashes a quickgrin before diving back into the fray, his argument laced with dramatic flair. It’s like they’re speaking another language—one I can’t quite grasp.
Standing abruptly, I blurt out. “I’m going to make some coffee.”
There are nods and murmurs but no real pause in their intellectual tennis match. I retreat to the corner where the fancy coffee maker lies in wait, relieved to escape into the normalcy of making coffee.
Only it’s so fucking complicated, I need a degree in rocket science.
Staring at it, wondering where I start, Charles comes up behind me and leans over the top of me, his body intimately close to mine as he reaches for a mug.
“Grab a pod,” he says.
“Pod?”
He chuckles and gestures to the display in the cupboard under the mugs, which has every flavour of coffee known to man. Aiming for a plain one, I hand it to him, my hand shaking nervously. Our fingers brush, and I stifle my gasp of surprise at how warm his fingers are, but then mentally roll my eyes at myself. He’s been holding a hot mug of coffee. Of course his hands are warm.
He grins, and I watch what he does with this pod to make my coffee, hoping I can re-enact that next time.
“See, easy,” he says.
“Easy peasey,” I murmur.
The smell of fresh coffee fills the air, which is a small comfort.
Feeling as if the other guys are ignoring me, I slip out of the kitchen into the entrance hall to open the front door. Stepping out, I turn my face up to the warm sun briefly and sighing deeply as I take a sip of coffee.
“Hey, Ever! Fancy meeting you here,” Alex’s voice slices through the silence as he ambles up the path, all easy confidence and a dark smile. “There’s a party tonight at Jensen’s place. You should come.”
“Hey, Alex. You’re around bright and early.” I blink at him, my pulse quickening. A party sounds like a slice of normal university life, something to drown out the disquieting elegance of this house.
“Came to see how you were settling in.”
“It’s okay, I guess.”
He nods. “So, party?”
