Page 43 of Hawthorne

“What is that cake?” Mariah asks curiously.

“Japanese cheesecake with strawberry jam. I’ve made an extra one for the staff. Get yourself a slice and make sure to share with the rest of the team, alright?”

She nods eagerly, and I take the tray back to serve both Hawthorne brothers.

When I get to the door, I press the tray slightly between the wall and my hip so I can balance it with only one hand and knock on the door. It opens after a few moments, revealing Edgar’s grinning face.

“Look, my new favourite girl is back!”

“I’ve brought some snacks to hold your stomach until lunchtime. Will you be staying for lunch, Your Grace?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

Both brothers answer at the same time.

“My brother is too busy to stay for lunch.Right, Edgar?”

Edgar’s shoulders deflate when he answers, “If you insist, dear brother,” he says sarcastically. “Although, I wouldn’t mind pushing my agenda to taste Camilla’s amazing cooking.”

“Oh, I don’t always cook. They’re my mother’s recipes, and I’ve perfected them, but I only cook when I have the time to or when the chef has a day off.”

I try to explain as I set the things on the table before Edgar. Vincent joins his brother on the couch and eyes the food.

“What’s that?” Edgar points at the cheesecake.

“It’s Japanese cheesecake that I made earlier this morning.” I smile, and Edgar eagerly takes the slice to his side, tasting it.

“This morning? How early were you up?” Vincent asks with a quirked eyebrow.

On the outside, one wouldn’t understand the weight of his question, but I do.

In the background, Edgar moans at the taste of the cake. Well, at least it’s tasty.

“At five in the morning, your grace, just like every other day,” I smile guiltily at him, and he nods tightly.

“What?” Edgar’s eyes widen at my words. “You startthatearly? Vincent, give this woman a damn raise or cut her some slack. Darling, this is bloody delicious. Can you prepare some for me to take home?”

“Yes,” I answer, and at the same time, the duke answers, “No.”

He looks at me before answering with a grunt, “Get your own housekeeper.”

Then he takes a bite of his piece, his eyes still locked on mine. I am frozen in place under his scorching gaze on me, inspecting every little detail and fault. But I can’t, for the life of me, move.

All the while, Edgar seems unbothered or unaware of the sudden tension filling the room.

“I have one, dear brother, but you forget, I still live with mother, and our housekeeper is good old Alice.”

“Then move out. Stop being a baby. You’re twenty-four already,” he answers before taking another bite, still focused on me.

“And be responsible? Nah, I’ll leave that for when you become king,” he jokes, but I can’t help but freeze.

“IfI become king,” Vincent says after clearing his throat. It’s enough to cut off my spiralling thoughts with an intense gaze and refute his brother’s words.

He’s scratching at his jaw, the sound of it against his trimmed facial hair reminding me of all the wicked things we did last night.

How his hands touched my body, sometimes gentle, sometimes rough; how his five o'clock shadow scratched at my skin, especially my chest when I was riding him.

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