“I am.”
There was no way out of this that left me spiritually whole.Mrs.Barclay turned to her son.“And he’s treating you well?”
“Oh, yes,verywell.”Lucas patted my arm.The way he said it didn’t have to be read as suggestive, and very likely my paranoid brain was trying to make me embarrass myself, but now all I could think about was my boyfriend and his mother discussing my relative fitness as a partner and lover.
“Want to meet the Captain?”Mrs.Barclay indicated the giant creature of pure muscle and teeth behind her.“He’s got real Major Bananas energy.”
Lucas indicated that he did, and I politely excused myself.“I’ll be here when you get back.Enjoy.Er.Say hi to the horse for me.”
Lucas climbed over the fence, then helped his mother like a gentleman.Mrs.Barclay glanced back at me.“Don’t get lost—would hate to find you hopelessly wandering the moors later.”
At some point I’d have to explain what The Moors were.
Lucas giggled again, and I said, “I won’t.”Perhaps a smidge too loudly.
Then I watched the Barclays walk confidently over wet grass, arm in arm with the pretext of each keeping the other from slipping, but clearly drawing sustenance from the contact.Good mothers were far less of a foreign concept to me than good fathers, because I’d had so many surrogates, people who stepped in to make sure I was fed, clothed, and doing my homework.Auntie Abeni, Hettie Marks, and even Winnie had all given me the tools I needed to not only weather Cheyenne Barclay, but eventually enjoy her.
If I lasted long enough to get the chance.
Lucas Is Read for Filth
November 22
The Captaindidhave big Major Bananas energy.There was something about an elderly horse with cataracts that made me feel right at home.I stroked his neck and tried not to melt into a puddle as he nibbled at the horse treats I offered.
I grinned at my mom, who leaned back against the pasture fence.“I don’t know why I keep expecting them to neigh in a British accent.”
She cackled.“Wouldn’t that be a hoot?Giddyup, gov’nah.”
“I daresay, do bring me that beet pulp, there’s a good lad, spit spot.”
“Oi, whatchoo doin’ if not mucking out me stables?Pip pip, cheerio.”
We were wheezing with laughter, but apparently the Captain, for all his dopey sweetness, didn’t share our sense of humor.He seemed to politely excuse himself to investigate the trough of hay.
“Armand hates when I do the accent,” I managed when we’d regained breath.“Or at least, he pretends to hate it.He mostly cringes about it.It’s the cutest thing.”
Mom raised an immaculately tweezed eyebrow.“I can see that.”She gestured behind me where, in the middle distance, Armand was navigating piles of poop like landmines and trying unsuccessfully to avoid the attention of the other resident horses, plus an overly friendly donkey.“It’s one thing to hear about that man secondhand; it’s another to experience him in real time.”
I snickered.Post-it notes and enigmatic plates of muffins truly couldn’t capture the beautiful oddity that was Armand Demetrio.“You’re telling me.”
“Certainly excellent to look at, so good job there.”Mom chewed her lip a moment, like she was gearing up for something.
“Okay, you want to say something.So, what is it?”
She hesitated.“He’s a good guy, though, right?I mean, he’s kind?Not that I don’t trust your judgment—he seems really sweet—but you did up and leave the country for him, so it’s my job to make sure you’re happy.That he makes you happy.”
My chest warmed.“He’s amazing.I mean, this whole thing was pretty spontaneous, but it feelseasy.And he’s been so supportive of me with my photos for the exhibition.”
“As he should, but I’m sensing there’s abut.”
“But—” I sighed “—there’s something he’s not telling me.Which wouldn’t be that big a deal except he and his friends are all intentionally hiding it whenever I’m there.Like, is he a secret gambler?Or a secret duke?A secret gambling duke?”
Cheyenne snorted.“I think that would make him a rake.”
“Oh my god, you’re right.”
“Or,” she said gently, “maybe your relationship is still new, and he’s nervous.”
