“Where did you get those suits from?”
Can’t tell me they just had them in their suitcase.
“We befriended James, and he was kind enough to tell us where you were all headed today. He even pointed us in the direction of some proper attire for the event.” Misha smiles, clearly pleased with their little conspiracy.
“James took us into the city,” Oliver chimes in, adjusting his glasses in that endearing way of his. “We did a bit of shopping for everything we might need over the next few…weeks? That’s why we’re a tad late, actually.”
I stop in my tracks, pulling Misha to a hold, too, and my eyes go wide.
They’re not leaving?
“What about work? And Jamie?”
Grey steps close, and in a low voice that sends a slight shiver down my spine, he says, “If you’re not coming back home with us yet, we’re staying. And if we’re staying, we can at least try to fit in a little to make things easier for you.”
If you’re not coming home with usyet.
“James told you all this?” I ask, still processing the information.
Oliver nods, a gentle smile on his face. “James is a very nice guy.”
I know that, of course.
I’ve known James since I was little, like a lot of the staff. But nobody besides me, not even August, has ever made an effort to befriend them.
“They’re employees, Amelia Charlotte.”
Once again, I’m reminded that the guys are my kind of people. They see beyond status and treat everyone with respect.
“You should be glad we’re not in the Royal Enclosure this time, or you would have needed a top hat, too,” I mutter to bring my mind back on topic as we start to walk again.
“Misha was sad that he didn’t need to buy one.” Grey smirks, and it does things to me.
Goddammit.
The grandstands are packed with well-dressed spectators, the air buzzing with excitement. There’s a seat free next to my father, and he waves Grey over to him.
Reluctantly, I sit in the row behind them, beside Daniel, who is seated next to August, while Misha and Oliver flank my other side.
The race starts, and the thunder of hooves pounding the turf fills the air. My father stands, screaming for his horse, his laughter ringing out as he cheers. I watch him with a mixture of disgust and detachment, wondering howhe finds joy in this.
Lost in my thoughts, I barely notice Misha’s little finger hooking into mine, which rests at my side. My dress is so voluminous that nobody will notice, our hands are hidden beneath the tulle. He squeezes my pinky with his, a small comfort in this overwhelming setting.
“Does Professor Donovan enjoy horse racing?” my father asks Grey, his voice booming over the crowd.
“No, sir,” Grey replies politely.
“Grandpa’s not into animal abuse,” Oliver murmurs, but only Misha and I hear it, and I can’t help but smile to myself at Oliver’s cheekiness.
“Does he play golf?” my father asks, not missing a beat.
“No, sir,” Grey answers again, shifting slightly. A gentle hand touches my ankle. He’s reached between the seats behind him and starts to caress it, his touch light and soothing. I glance over at Daniel, worried about his reaction, but he simply looks back to the race, seemingly unfazed. Relieved, I allow myself to relax into Grey’s touch. It’s comforting, grounding. “My grandfather was more into the piano, books, and cake. Nowadays, he has only the books and cake left, unfortunately.”
“Growing old is indeed a nuisance,” my father says, nodding. “I’m acutely aware of it myself. I’m on the verge of retiring, and in a couple of months, I’m passing the firm on to August so I can devote my time primarily to horse racing and golf.”
I stiffen, and both Misha and Grey turn to look at me, their concern evident. Misha squeezes my finger while Grey applies gentle pressure to my ankle.
The sun is warm, too warm, as it beats down on the crowded stands, reflecting off the vibrant colors of the spectators’ outfits. The scent of fresh grass and expensive perfumes mingles in the air, creating a sensory overload.
