Page 128 of Unwritten Rules

The phrase a lamb to the slaughter rings through my mind on repeat as Branson Higgins gleefully leads me out to the podium at the front of the lecture hall where I’ve been roped into giving this little talk.

I’m sure I look precisely like a lamb being led to the slaughter, and I can’t help gritting my jaw when I look up to find the whole hall is filled beyond capacity.

Fuck it.

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen.” Branson’s voice rings over the conference microphone, jolting me from my inner musing. “Thank you for coming out today to hear Walden-Forbes’s very own Nathaniel Hawthorne discuss his unparalleled, prize-winning works of fiction.”

He stands back, beginning to clap as the audience before me takes up the mantle in the form of cheers and raucous applause.

Stepping forward, I lean into the mic. “Thank you all for being here today.”

The gathering stops their clapping immediately, silence following my address. Branson reappears with a tall stool, which I take gratefully.

“Having been notoriously quiet following my third book tour for the release of Night For Days, I’m sure many of you have questions you’d like answered.”

My tone is perfunctory as I survey the room, remembering how easily I’ve always found commanding the attention of such a gathering, despite my hatred for it.

“I shall be taking questions at the end.”

My statement brooks no argument, and I instantly put my head down to launch into the excerpt I’d chosen to read this evening.

It’s from my final work, loosely based on my feelings at the time of writing and probably my most loved work. The story itself is from the point of the male protagonist, who, having been told of his wife’s inability to have children, surprised himself with his reaction to the news that he’d never be a father.

“For even now, I pretend I fear losing her to childbirth, as I lost my mother, but I can no longer lie to myself.

The truth is that I fear the prospect of fatherhood above all else. The blood of my ancestors runs through my veins, none of them good men, and I’m the very worst of them all.

I pretend to care when my heart is incapable of caring for anything outside my regimented view of life. My work dictates all. Work is safe. Life is not.

And so, the loss of our child doesn’t sadden me as much as I feel it should. I should be incapacitated with loss. But, instead, I’m grateful.

Because giving life means receiving loss, and as selfish as it makes me feel, I’m done losing.”

The room breaks into resounding applause, everyone rising to stand as I sit back stoically on my stool.

I move to stand and hold my palms up to quell the uproar before speaking into the microphone directly. “Questions?”

The following hour is spent answering more questions than I’d realised readers may have had, but I answer them each concisely and honestly, and despite my hatred for this part of authoring, I can’t help but miss the thrill of finishing a new manuscript.

By the time I step from the lecture hall, I’m worn out and can’t wait to get home to Mila.

Home! That’s the first time in my life that I’ve referred to Hawthorne House as “home.”

A smirk plays across my lips at the thought as I toss a text to Phillippe, alerting him that I’m ready and waiting.

“Those questions were a lot less juicy than I’d imagined them to be. I feel a bit shafted, to be fair.”

A male voice carries to my ears, and I peer around the corner of the building to spy Mila’s friend Cal, alongside Persephone and Desmond.

Desmond laughs as Percy shakes her head. “You’re the pits, Cal.”

“What?” He splays his hands wide. “I wanted the personal stuff, not the shit that we got.”

I smirk at Cal’s disgust. He’s not wrong. I’d been concerned over nothing, really. The most personal things had gotten was when I’d been questioned about whether I’d ever consider a date with a student.

The whole lecture hall had erupted into gales of laughter while the poor student who’d asked the question blushed so fiercely that she’d almost turned purple.

“If you’d have been picked to ask a question, what would you have wanted to know, then?”