Page 87 of Vampires of Eden: Oliver
I shrug. “You may not be the bad guy, but you’re not a good guy, either.”
Alexander pokes my upper arm. I jump away, startled. He grins. “Then I’m aneutralguy, you twat. Not black or white. Gray. And a hell of a lot more interesting.”
“You wish.”
He chuckles, and the mood in the car lightens as we pull up to the front of the house. The moment I’m out of the car, I walk up to Camille. She’s standing in the long line of servants assigned to receive us upon our arrival. She stayed at the castle for the week because they have their own full staff at the Kendrick estate.
Camille bows as I approach. Already, I notice that her expression is off. Harried. “Your grace, welcome back home.”
“Thanks, Camille. Can I talk to you?”
“Of course.”
I turn back to Alexander. He’s standing behind me, still near the car. “I’ll see you at dinner?” I call out.
He nods. “Sure.”
Turning, I link my arm in Camille’s, which completely shocks her, but she goes along with it as I pull her inside. From the corner of my eyes, I catch a glimpse of Lord Blakeley examining me, but I don’t care.
“Your grace, wh-what are you doing?”
I’m practically dragging Camille down the corridor toward my wing of the castle. By now, unquestionably, I should sense Aries somewhere on the grounds, but I don’t. It’s making me feel panicked and queasy.
When we’re far enough away, I let go of her. “Where is Aries? Why don’t I sense him?” We’re in the outdoor passageway of arched windows that separates my wing from the main estate—close to where his room is located, but there’s only emptiness. Deafening quiet to my senses.
Camille’s shoulders rise and fall in a breath. Her entire expression shifts. “I’m sorry, Oliver—”
“Where is he?” She’s never called me by my first name before. I turn, walking in the direction of his room. Camille trails behind.
“Lord Blakeley dismissed him yesterday once he finalized your and Alexander’s suits. He told Aries that if any final, small adjustments needed to be made, they’d have a local tailor handle it. Aries is gone.”
“What?” I turn and rush toward the tower. Within seconds, I round the corner to the short hallway where his room is, just before the stairs leading to mine. The rosewood door is already ajar, so I press my palms to the cool surface and push it open.
Empty.
Only overcast light and dust motes. Stillness and silence. Everything associated with Aries is gone—the dressing stage has been broken down. No table full of fabric swatches, scissors and thread. No sewing machine or male dress form. Slowly, I step inside. Dazed, as if a lovely dream has been ripped away. As if it was never a reality at all.
“I’m so sorry, Oliver.” Camille stands behind me, her voice solemn in the weighted emptiness of the room. “Aries was… He maintained his usual decorum, but I could tell that he was upset to leave so suddenly. But… if you go upstairs, your suit is in your room. He told me that he left something for you in the jacket pocket.”
I turn, only meeting her gaze for a moment before flying past her and up the stone steps, taking them two at a time. When I burst inside, the suit is there, hanging on a freestanding silver hook situated toward the end of my bed. It’s like a beacon as I draw nearer. A lighthouse in the dense fog of distress and disbelief clouding my brain.
The color of the material is a regal, evocative shade of blueish gray—rich and elegant in the shadowy light pouring in through the windows. I touch the lapel. Dark satin. Cool and soft. Something catches my eye and I pull the jacket open.
At first, the lining simply looks pink. But it’s creamier and more complex. The softest shades of rose and blush. When I look closer, I realize there’s a large pattern of the most beautiful, ethereal-looking flowers. Peonies, partially bloomed and lithe, like delicate clouds drifting over an island sunset.
My eyes threaten to water as I gently stick my fingers into each pocket, searching. The moment I touch the smooth folds of a paper note, my throat closes.
Sitting on the ottoman, I hold the note for a moment, breathing. Everything is silent. A thin ray of sunshine breaks through the clouds, warming and casting golden light on my face.
Carefully, I unfold the note.
I sit for a long moment, staring down at his eloquent handwriting, then back up at this suit made by his artistic and arresting sensibilities. Made just for me.
I love this suit. It is the most incredible, personal thing that anyone has ever given to me. But I don’t want to wear it. Not for its intended purpose.
Slowly, I bring my knees up, setting my feet onto the ottoman so I can wrap my arms around and hold myself together yet again. Regret washes over me in spades as the stream of sunlight disappears once more behind the thick blanket of clouds. It leaves me cold and despondent.
I didn’t even have the chance to tell him that I love him.
