Chapter 4

The echo of footsteps filled the hall as I made my way to the kitchen, anticipation sending sharp sparks along my nerves, as though every inch of my skin lit up just knowing Luther was near. Since I’d given the staff the night off, everyone had either gone home or retired to their wing of the house. The convenience of a butler and maids simplified life, but doors being open and tea waiting wasn’t worth losing the bit of time I had left alone with my man.

Most of the lights were off, casting the halls in shadow, but the dim glow from the kitchen was more than enough. I passed the expensive paintings lining the walls, the thick, burgundy curtains drawn shut over long windows, ornate tables with pricey knickknacks, all things I’d bought to make the mansion more like the place I’d grown up. As always, the display of wealth left me with a hollow feeling in my gut.

And still, I’d embraced this life, made it a showcase for the rich and famous who came here hoping to do business, to impress me, to make themselves feel important. I hated them almost as much as I needed them. Being shut away from all those I’d admired as a child had been a painful reminder of how far I’d fallen when my father disowned me.

Aside from Luther, no one knew how little the money actually meant to me. Of course I bought all the material things that would display my position, but more often than not my butler, Mr. Mathews, or Luther, made the purchases. I didn’t enjoy having…things. What they stood for was much more important.

My father had tried to shame me. Had figured without him I would be nothing. He’d taken everything I’d ever known, isolated me, and likely hoped I’d disappear from his world.

The riches, every damn overpriced vase, every painting bought on auction for millions, every car, every piece of jewelry was to show him he’d failed. If my name wasn’t in the papers for my accomplishments, it was there because I’d acquired something coveted by members of the ‘one percent’.

Reaching the kitchen, I strode across the room, filled the kettle, and put it on. Every movement was stiff. My throat tightened as I struggled to shove away the memories that came every time I walked down that hall. I usually avoided going further than the stairway leading up to my room, or my office located on the other side of the entrance, but when Luther came to this section of the house I forced myself to move around my home as though it was completely natural.

If he suspected what being here did to me, he’d worry. Which was unacceptable.

As the kettle heated, Luther took a seat on a stool at the kitchen island, picking up a woman’s magazine likely left there by the cook. She lived in the west wing of the house with a few of the maids even though I didn’t eat enough to need her fulltime—having Alexander around finally gave her more to do. Her presence was comforting and she’d been with me longer than the rest of my staff. Left an abusive relationship after fifteen years the day I’d hired her.

Her youngest daughter had come with her, still too young to be out on her own. Eight years later and the young woman was going to Stanford University, a gift to her from me for letting her mother take the place of the one who’d abandoned me.

“Ms. Lacey was waiting for you.” Luther set down the magazine. “Which means you skipped lunch. Likely breakfast as well.”

The man was much too observant. I folded my arms over my chest and leaned back against the counter. “Perhaps she simply decided to spend time in the kitchen with the staff. Enjoy her day off.”

“Even on her days off she makes sure you eat.”

“You took Alexander out for breakfast and made him lunch. She likely assumed I ate with you or went out myself.”

“But you didn’t. You can’t stand restaurants and only go to them for business meetings.” Luther sighed and shook his head. “Xavier, I know you were worried about Alec, but you need to take better care of yourself.”

The soft reprimand made me smile. As much as I didn’t want Luther to worry, I loved that he cared. I always wondered if others, like my staff, cared only because I paid them well. Maybe not Abigail Lacey, I knew she was genuine, but I tried to shield her from my more self-destructive tendencies.

I couldn’t hide anything from Luther.

“I had an energy bar this morning. Disgusting thing, but I promised you I’d have at least that if I couldn’t stomach a full meal.” I turned and opened the cupboard, pulling out two mugs. “I keep my promises.”