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The guilt had been unbearable. I'd left because I'd thought I was protecting David. But standing here now, I wonder if I had only made things worse.

Ashley pulls the car around toward the cottages, parking near the stables. “I’ll get our bags,” he offers, but I barely hear him. I step out of the car, boots crunching against gravel. The cottage is quaint, smaller than I remember but still beautiful, with its ivy-covered stone walls and warm light spilling from the windows. I should go inside, settle in, prepare myself for whatever comes next. Instead, I stand there, staring at the house in the distance. No matter how much time has passed, no matter how many miles I put between myself and this place, one thing has never changed.

Galferkus House is still home.

And David McCraig is still in my bones.

ChapterThree

David

Istep over the threshold into the lounge that leads to the study, and the familiar scent of aged wood, polished floors, and burning peat emanating from the roaring fire fills my lungs. For a brief second, the house feels untouched, as though my grandfather is still here, roaming the halls of the estate, as though nothing has changed. But the weight of Bertie’s words clings to me.

Kelly is here.

The voices echo from the study. A chaotic mixture of sharp and irritated sounds, unmistakably my parents. I don’t need to hear their words to know the general tone of the conversation. When god was handing out subtlety, my parents weren't even on the same continent. They are furious, and the only thing that can rile them up this much is a threat to their wealth, their image and overall, their control.

The McCraig legacy is all that matters to them. Appearances, social standing, the preservation of the family name. For years, I'd tried to be the son they wanted. The one who smiled at charity functions, who played polo, who attended networking events with the daughters of noble families dangling off my arm. They'd expected me to marry someone suitable, someone who would fit seamlessly into their world. Instead, I fell in love with Kelly Baker. My Kelly. And now he’s back.

I exhale slowly, schooling my face into neutrality before stepping into the study. My father’s posture is rigid, his arms crossed over his chest, his mouth pressed into a thin line. I imagine if I was close enough, I might have been able to hear the grinding of the molars in his mouth. My mother is perched in the leather armchair, her legs crossed, one manicured hand resting in her lap while the other clutches a crystal tumbler of whisky, a single ice cube rattling about against the interior.

Bertie stands off to the side, looking equal parts exhausted and amused. He’s dealt with my family long enough to know how to navigate their tempers, but even he seems aware that today’s reading of the will is going to be more of a battle than a formality.

“Ah, David, you’ve finally joined us,” my mother says, flashing me a cool smile. “Your father and I were just discussing the rather… let's say… unexpected additions to your grandfather’s will.”

“I take it you mean Kelly,” I say flatly, refusing to play the game where we all pretend we don’t know exactly what’s going on. British nobility are good at that.

My father scoffs, shaking his head. “Of all the people he could have included… I should have known my father would pull something like this. Bloody bleeding heart. Never did him any good though, did it?”

“He was his own man,” Bertie interjects, “and he made his decisions with clarity. This will was updated only a few months before his passing.”

My father’s lips press even thinner. “And what, pray tell, did he leave to the ex-husband?”

Bertie glances at me before responding, “I cannot tell you anything about its contents, but, he will be presented with a letter.” Silence blankets the room. My mother exhales slowly, my father stares at Bertie as though waiting for him to reveal that this is all some elaborate joke.

“A letter?” my father finally says, incredulous. “That’s it?”

Bertie nods. “That’s it.”

The loosening of my father’s shoulders is instant. My mother sips her whisky, her tension unwinding like a thread slowly being pulled free.

“Well,” she says airily, “I suppose that’s nothing to get worked up over, then. No land, no money, just a sentimental little letter.” But I know better. Grandfather wouldn’t have included Kelly unless it mattered.

I swallow, turning back to Bertie. “Where is he?”

“Staying in the guest cottage,” Bertie says. “With a gentleman friend.”

A what?

The words land heavier than I expect. A dull, unwelcome ache settles in my chest. I have no right to feel this way, not after a year of silence, not after the way things ended, but that doesn’t stop the sharp twist of something ugly inside me.

My father notices. Of course, he notices. He watches me like a hawk, searching for any sign of weakness. When he speaks, his voice is clipped, pointed. “Don’t tell me you’re still hung up on him.”

“I’m not,” I say quickly. Too quickly.

A flicker of something smug passes over his face. “Good. Then I shall expect you’ll conduct yourself with dignity during the reading.”

My mother places her glass down gently, the ice shifting in the tumbler. “David, darling,” she says smoothly, “this doesn’t have to be difficult. You just need to make it clear that there’s no place for him and his type here anymore.”

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