Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 97287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
“And make sure she eats something,” Monica adds adamantly. She grins at me. “Try to have a little fun, Laila.”
I shouldn’t be so surprised that Monica is encouraging her employees to fraternize, considering Monica wasn’t born a royal and it goes with her easy personality. Still, it catches me off guard. After all, I hadn’t even agreed to this yet. It’s like she knows I’ll say yes anyway.
“I should go change,” I concede, looking down at my uniform of a navy A-line dress that’s riddled with stains from Madeline. I look at James. “How much time do I have?”
“No rush. Take your time,” he says. “I’ll be in the study.”
He turns and heads down the hall. Naturally he doesn’t have to change. He’s in a suit, as always. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him in anything outside of a suit. Even when he goes to the bars, he’s always impeccably dressed.
Definitely makes you wonder what’s underneath the suit, I think, though I push that image out of my head. Yet another intrusive thought when it comes to him.
As if Monica can hear the chatter in my brain, she nods at the door. “Go, Laila,” she says imploringly. “You deserve to have a night off. Have fun.”
I decide to heed her advice. I thank her and head down the hall and across the yard to my quarters. August is coming to a close, and though there are a few hot days scattered here and there, the evenings are cool and the air smells like hay from the neighboring fields beyond the estate.
I take the world’s quickest shower, not getting my hair wet, and change into jeans and a loose tank top. I wear a pair of sandals that I bought on Amazon, and I do my hair, rubbing in some anti-frizz stuff before pulling it back into a low ponytail. I don’t want to go overboard, but I want to look nice for my first night off since I started working here.
When I get to the study, I find James sprawled out in one of the armchairs, reading a book. A piece of his dark hair flops against his forehead, and I have this sudden urge to push it back.
He looks up as I enter the room, setting his book down on the table beside the chair, and takes a moment to appraise me. The grandfather clock in the corner ticks away the seconds.
“You look lovely,” he says.
“Thank you,” I say bashfully, leaning against the wall beside the door. I can’t remember the last time someone called me lovely. Monica often tells me if I’m looking pretty, but it’s been a long time since a man has said it. I clear my throat, feeling a little awkward. “Sorry I took so long.” I peer at the book, trying to recognize the title. “What are you reading?”
“Something you’d probably like,” he says, getting to his feet. “Wife threw her husband off a moving train…or did she?” He adds with a mock suspicious squint.
I can’t help but smile. “Got to love a damaged heroine.”
“They are my favorite,” he says affectionately. “Shall we?”
Primrose Cottage is located on the same sprawling estate as Berkstead Castle, where the king and queen spend their weekends and summers, but the land is so massive that even when they are on the property, you never see them. I get the feeling that even though the tabloids report that Eddie and Monica have patched things up with the king and queen, their relationship is still strained and has been ever since they ditched England for Canada. Even the arrival of Madeline hasn’t done much to pull them back together, except in public. I wouldn’t be surprised if one day they end up leaving England again.
Outside, the night air blows with a soft wind and there’s a town car waiting for us. A perk of working for the Fairfaxes is that we don’t have to deal with public transportation. Instead we have drivers that take us wherever we want to go, as if we are royalty ourselves.
The driver comes around and opens the car’s back doors for us.
“I’d drive us into town myself,” James says as he gestures for me to get in, “but then I can’t properly imbibe.”
I slide in. “You have a car?”
He nods and comes around the other side, buckling in as the driver closes the doors. “I do. It’s a piece-of-shite old Peugeot, but it works. There’s something about being on an estate like this, outside the city, that feels a little claustrophobic, even when you do have people like my good man Charles over here to drive you.”
“Appreciated, sir,” the driver, who I now know as Charles, says, winking at him in the rearview mirror.
He drives off, and I have to admit, I feel a bit of a thrill as Primrose Cottage and the towering Berkstead Castle behind it begin to fade into the background. The city! London! I had forgotten how exciting it is to be living near it, I’ve been so worked up with my job.