Page 34 of Unwritten Rules

My shoulders slump, and I rally myself, returning the way I’d come, repeating a blatant fact that I’ve just now come to realise.

I’m insane. I’m insane. I’m insane.

By the time I reach the house, everywhere is locked up and blanketed in darkness, so I quickly slip in the back door to an empty kitchen.

Knowing Mila is no doubt asleep by now, I don’t want to risk disturbing her slumber, so I rapidly strip and shower in the bathroom beside the mudroom. It’s not until I’ve finished that I realise my lack of fresh clothing.

Grateful for the small, clean towel I’d located prior to washing, I loop it around my waist and make a mad dash for my quarters, shooting up a quick prayer that none of the staff has spotted my undignified state of undress.

Blowing out a silent breath of relief when I reach my destination without fuss, I chuck the towel on the futon and grab a pair of underwear from the pile of freshly laundered clothes Johanna had dropped off earlier.

I’ve barely pulled it up to my knees when I hear crying from my old bedroom. I cross the distance in half a second, yanking up my boxers as I go, and throw the door open wide to find Mila curled up on her left side, smack in the middle of my bed.

She’s crying in her sleep. Another damn nightmare, no doubt.

And I left her to deal with them alone ten months ago because I wasn’t strong enough to keep my hands to myself.

You’re a spectacular wanker, Hawthorne.

Without conscious thought, I’m on the bed, scooping her into my arms before I can second-guess myself.

She settles immediately, nuzzling her face against my still-damp chest.

I’ll just wait until she’s sleeping more easily.

I drop a light kiss on the top of her mussed-up, dark hair, inhaling that signature sweet vanilla fragrance before snorting darkly at my inner lies.

You’re delusional as well as insane now, idiot.

* * *

Morning sunlight streams through the enormous bay window, flooding my suite with light that breaks through the only partially closed bedroom door.

I rouse after the most relaxed sleep I’ve had in ages to find Mila tucked in at my side. Her hair, having come undone at some stage in our slumber, is splayed across my arm, which is holding her tight. Her left arm is draped across my chest, and her left leg is slung over my thigh, leaving her core snugly pressed against me.

She’s breathing softly, rhythmically, with such a peaceful look on her beautiful face, that for an instant, all I can do, all I want to do, is to greedily soak in this stolen moment.

Despite feeling wholly content at this moment, I allow myself one final, lingering look before extricating myself from the warmth of her embrace.

Rolling off the side of the bed, I unfold my height to stand and stretch my arms above my head as a small groaning yawn sneaks out of my mouth.

Glancing behind me, I can see Mila has flopped over onto her stomach and is buried facedown amongst the many pillows Johanna had dressed my bed with the previous day.

I note the time on the clock by the nightstand, spotting that it’s not even 6 a.m. and, despite being a work day – and her first at Walden-Forbes – I leave her to rest a while longer.

Quickly and quietly, so as not to wake her, I wash up, then throw on a t-shirt, jeans, and trainers, pocket my phone, and head for the kitchen below, which is, unsurprisingly, still empty.

I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and head toward Wetherby’s cottage, knowing that he religiously rises with the dawn.

Tatiana, the on-site caretaker, answers the door at my soft knock, but instead of inviting me inside, she steps out onto his front step, placing her forefinger over her lips in a shushing gesture.

“Lord Hawthorne. I’m afraid Mr Wetherby is still sleeping.”

At her words, my stomach bottoms out, yet I only nod, carefully schooling my features into my ingrained indifference.

“He took a little turn overnight, so he needs the extra rest today, sir. I’ll be sure to tell him you stopped by again.”

Gritting my teeth in frustration, I nod, probably more sharply than intended.