Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 148397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
“Peter. Peter.” One of the girls working at the stainless-steel bench threw a peeled onion at us.
His eyes shot behind me. “Ah, shit.” Bolting away from the larder, he skidded to a stop beside the pretty cook seasoning a huge tray of vegetables. The girl gave him a worried look. He shook his head.
I spun on my heel just as the other cook collided with me and shoved a shiny green apple into my hands. “Here.”
I went to ask—
The guard by the door stood to full attention.
And in walked Victor.
A surge of fear swamped me, followed by an ice-cold blanket of detachment. Perhaps I was a psychopath after all, because the dissociation between planning a war with Peter and my current snowy calm couldn’t exist in the same person.
“Victor!” I strolled toward him, tossing my apple into the air before catching it and taking a big juicy bite. “You hungry too?”
He scowled, looking me up and down. “Henri. What on earth are you doing down here?” He eyed my apple. “Didn’t you find enough to eat at breakfast?”
I took another bite, smacking obnoxiously. “Of course I did. Your staff put on a fabulous spread. I was just craving some fruit is all.”
“Humpf.” His gaze left mine, distracted and not interested.
His face slipped into a snide, cruel smile the minute he found who he was looking for. “Peter. There you are.”
Peter had enough acting ability to look up in pure, perfected shock. “Me, Sir V?”
“Branson said he sent you on an errand thirty minutes ago and you haven’t returned to him. There better be a good reason for the delay.”
“Sorry, Sir V.” Ducking around the bench, he stopped in front of Victor. “I…Master B asked me to grab some of his favourite tartlets. I didn’t see them at breakfast, so I came here to see if any had been made.”
“Tartlets? What tartlets?”
“These, Sir.” The short cook bustled forward with a steamy tray of lemon custard things. “Guest Branson asked me to make them when he arrived yesterday morning. I’ve only just had time.” She bowed over the tray. “Forgive me, Sir. We’re just so busy with how many guests are here and—”
“Yes, yes. That’s quite enough.” Victor snagged a tart for himself and pointed at Peter. “Take a plate to him immediately. How dare you fucking dilly-dally as if you own the place.” He looked past him to the pretty girl who kept seasoning the vegetables. They’d be inedible with the amount of salt she’d sprinkled. “I might think you came down here because you’ve decided to tup the scullery maid.”
Peter shook his head. “No, Sir V. Never.”
Victor studied him carefully. “Remember what happened when you kissed Ily in the vault?” He clucked his tongue and tapped Peter on the cheek. “Do you want to be reminded that fraternizing with any jewel or staff upsets me?”
“No, Sir V.”
“Well then. Run along.”
“Yes, Sir V.”
Peter grabbed a few tarts and took off.
He didn’t look in my direction.
I took another bite of my apple all while my stomach snarled and my old friend nausea came thick.
Sighing heavily as if he was sick of unruly jewels, Victor rolled his eyes in my direction. “Honestly, how am I supposed to provide a good fuck to my guests when my jewels are running around like cockroaches?”
“I hear you.” I nodded. “Hard to find good slaves these days.”
Victor snickered. “That it is, my friend. That it is. No matter.” Clapping his hands, he twisted his wrist and looked at his sparkly Rolex. “Damn, I have a phone conference I need to attend. No time to play for me today, but…if you’re interested. We could maybe catch up tonight? A few drinks? Another evening with just the four of us?”
“Sounds great.” I toasted him with my apple.
“Fantastique.” Squeezing my elbow, he grinned. “See you later then, Mercer. Don’t have too much fun without me.”
I watched him go.
I didn’t move until the guard stopped puffing out his chest and slouched again.
And then I moved as slowly and as inconspicuously as possible toward the jewel quarters and Ily.
Chapter Thirty-One
………………………….
Ily
AUGUST
TIME HAD THE TERRIBLE ABILITY at changing the length of its minutes.
One day, hours sped past in a blink. The next, seconds crawled by with an age.
Our mornings were spent on the deck or in the ballroom sharing breakfast with so many other Masters and kneeling, unhappy jewels. Afterward, Henri would leash me and take me for a walk in the gardens. In the afternoons, he’d write or read, and I’d do yoga and meditate.
And our evenings…well.
Those became the bane and highlight of my existence.
Not because of the things we did.
But because those things destroyed us.
Piece by piece.
Heart by heart.
Until we were nothing more than creatures of the same twisted longing.
* * * * *
“Ah good swat, mon ami!” Victor slapped Henri on the shoulder as he delivered another shot of cognac to him. Henri took the glass with a shaking hand, wiping the sweat off his upper lip.