I look back at my plate, but I’m not hungry anymore. I set my napkin down and stand.
Enough of this sentimental nonsense!
Tomorrow is a critical day. I have no teaching obligations, so I don’t have to drive into Pombrio. My trusted accountant, Basil, and I will start reviewing the estate ledgers in the morning at seven to cover as much ground as we can. After lunch, I’ll meet with the estate manager again, then tenant farmer reps, and then analyze production forecasts.
And tonight…
Tonight, like last night, and the night before, I’ll work on the paper I’m coauthoring with two other professors and then go for a late jog. It’s the best way I’ve found to exhaust myself, so I don’t dwell on Eva’s tight, hot pussy milking my throbbing cock.
11
ALEX
Four days.
That’s how long I’ve been living at Fort Vauclairt. It feels like I’ve absorbed a decade of dysfunction. The estate finances are as dire as I thought. The staff doesn’t know who they answer to. Eric Latour, the estate manager handpicked by Geoffroy a decade ago after the previous one retired, immediately decided he reports to me. His staff follows his lead. The housekeeper, Claudia, recognizes Eva as her boss. Her people do the same.
And I’ve had to split my time between the ledgers, economic forecasts, trading hours, and finishing edits on the damn academic paper I should’ve completed two weeks ago.
But the edits are done now, and the paper is submitted. I lean back in the desk chair, eyes burning from too much screen time and head spinning from a paragraph I’ve rewritten five times. I need air.
I grab my jacket and step outside.
The late-September afternoon is cool, carrying the scents of pine and wet stone. The park is almost empty, save for the gardener raking leaves by the pond and the stable boy exercising Millie’s horse in the enclosure. Rust-colored branches swaygently overhead as I walk. I should pause to admire the light slanting through them. But I don’t. My mind is elsewhere.
Eva is out meeting the mayor of Aymon. Yesterday, when she told me about it, she asked if I wanted to go instead.
“You’re the duke for now,” she said, calm and matter-of-fact. “It should be you.”
I’d told her no. I said she should go because she knew the man well. I added that I trusted her judgment and that I’d have my turn.
All true.Yet I still don’t know why I didn’t go.
The whole point of moving in was to establish a presence. Win people over. Build credibility. That meeting would’ve helped. Yet I let her go alone.
Completely irrational.
I frown and walk faster, gravel crunching underfoot.
At the end of the main path near the iron gate, I spot a familiar silhouette.
It’s Millie. She’s walking toward the castle with a schoolbag on her back. Her shoulders are stiff, her gait… off.
I slow down and observe her.
She’s wincing as she limps across the gravel path, favoring her right leg.
I change direction and head toward her. “Millie? Are you OK?”
“I’m fine,” she mutters.
“You’re limping.”
“Yeah. I tripped.”
“When?” I ask.
“Earlier.”
