We’re both uneasy, we’re both unsure, we’re both trying to figure out what all of this means. I know when she came up to me and hugged me in my house, she was looking for answers, with at least a hundred questions on the tip of her tongue.
And for the life of me, I couldn’t find the answers, because I don’t know.
It’s the elephant in the room.
My dad is in critical condition. If he passes, his title will be given to me. A title I do not want nor care to even have attached to my name.
But how am I supposed to go about rejecting the title once my dad passes? We’ve had a volatile relationship, but that would feel like spitting on his grave, and as much of a horrible human as he is, I just don’t know if I have it in me to do such a thing.
And then there’s Renley, my girl. The light in my life. The person who has believed in me the most. Am I supposed to leave her, let this relationship that we’ve built just fade away?
Because I know one thing for certain: her life is here. Her life is not in England, playing the dutiful role of a lady while being escorted around by her lord. She belongs here, in her shop, making new, loving memories for all that pass by.
“I’m…I’m good,” she answers me, her eyes gleaming.
I reach for her waist to pull her in close, but she takes a step back. “Not here,” she whispers.
Right.
My jaw ticks with irritation. This is my last night here until…hell, I don’t even know how long, and she’s going to hide this relationship between us…still?
“Renley, it’s my last night.”
“I know.” She turns away and starts tending to some mashed potatoes in a bowl, not doing much other than busying herself.
“Can’t we act normal? Maybe tell your aunt, hold hands during dinner.”
She shakes her head. “There is no use telling her.”
“No use telling her? What does that mean?”
She sighs and turns toward me. “We don’t know what’s going on, when or if you’re going to return, so I don’t need her hyper-focusing on whatever…this is.” She motions between us.
“Whatever this is?” My brow knits together. “You know exactly what this is.”
“I really don’t,” she says just as Kitty pops into the kitchen.
“Rupert is famished. Is everything ready?”
Renley plasters on a fake smile and says, “Yes. Just pulled out the chicken, everything is ready to be put on the table if you want to get started.”
“Splendid. Theo, go take a seat at the table, let us handle this.”
I glance over at Renley, who eyes me for a moment and then turns away as she scoops some biscuits off a baking sheet and places them in a napkin-covered basket.
“Sure.”
Feeling disheartened, I go to the dining room, where Rupert is sitting on one side, examining the tablecloth by feeling the fabric between his fingers.
When he glances up, he points to the seat across from him. “You’re sitting over there.”
“Says who?”
“The name tags,” he replies.
I take in the table myself, where a white linen cloth is the base, followed by white and blue toile plates, an abundance of silverware—mainly all the same size—and three different types of glassware, including a teacup and saucer at each place setting. On top of the plates are tented cards with our names on them.
And lo and behold, Renley is sitting next to me.
