Page 69 of Good Losers (Lochkelvin Academy)

He’s wearing an elegant charcoal gray suit with a burgundy tie tucked behind a fitted waistcoat. His dark blond hair is neatly parted, brushing the shell of his ear. The man looks impeccable, the very definition of a snappy dresser.

The sight of him is so strange, so bizarre, that the eyes of everyone around the table widen. He never eats with us. He’s always gone by the time we wake.

“Father,” Rory says, sounding confused. “Are you not in London today?”

Oscar Munro’s eyes land on his son. “No.” That’s it. That’s all that’s said. This is not a man in the habit of explaining himself.

His gaze flits to the dog on the breakfast table and then falls onto me.

I can’t help it. My body goes hot all over.

He has the same piercing gray eyes as his son. But instead of the new, comfortable warmth I’ve grown used to from Rory, this time I’m met with outright hostility. The Rory from a year ago is captured in his eyes.

Given the sharpness of his glare, I feel as though I should say something. My mouth parts, hoping my brain will catch up and offer something exceptionally witty and cutting. Instead, Oscar Munro’s gaze drops to my mouth.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

I ignore the burn of heat created by that one small gesture and close my mouth with a snap.

No one says anything. There’s a steely kind of silence as Oscar Munro surveys the room, his attention turning to each of us, his eyes narrowing on Luke.

A low growl suddenly comes from Captain Porthos’s throat, which Rory frowns at. “Stop it, boy,” he mutters, a pink tinge to his cheeks. He doesn’t like this. He doesn’t like being scrutinized by his dad in front of the rest of the chiefs, his power rapidly fading the longer his father exists around him.

But the dog continues, a deep rumbling growl emanating from within.

“Be quiet,” Oscar Munro snaps in a voice as hard as iron. Captain Porthos gives a high, pitiful whine, as though ashamed of being told off, though his black beady gaze never leaves his master’s side.

Oscar Munro pulls out a chair, sitting on it with a flourish and crossing his ankles over polished leather shoes. “I thought I’d find you here,” he says, dropping a large plastic bag beside him. Captain Porthos’s eyes linger on the bag. “Busy night?”

Rory swallows. I do, too. He wanted me to dance for him, and I threw it back in his face by getting off with his son instead.

Is this why he’s so angry? Why barely contained rage seeps from every pore? Because ofme?

Please God, don’t make this be because of me…

“Yes,” Rory says slowly, raising his chin as he rubs Captain Porthos’s ruff. “Jessa, Finlay and I took a private tour of the grounds.”

Finlay and Luke sit awkwardly, as though aware they have no say in this. They may both have bones to pick with Rory’s dad but they also know when to stay silent for self-preservation’s sake.

Oscar Munro nods slightly. “And did you find them adequate?”

There’s a long silence before Rory eventually answers, “More than.”

A flicker of a smirk crosses Finlay’s face, and he ducks his head to hide it. I can’t help but echo the gesture.

“Forgive me, Father,” Rory says, a tad bolder than before, “but you must understand it’s unusual for you to still be in the manor at this time. Does Westminster not need you?”

His dad leans back in his chair, surveying the cornices decorating the ceiling. Despite Rory’s petting, Captain Porthos still hasn’t let up the tension in his body — it’s as though he’s priming himself, paused like a gymnast waiting to leap.

“They’ll survive without me for one day,” Oscar Munro says breezily, like he isn’t supposed to be leading the country or anything important. “As a matter of fact, I’ve been helping out an old friend. Working on estate management. You remember Lord John Drummond, who owns the Glencarron lands to the east?”

Rory gives his dad a bemused frown. “Yes.”

“He got in touch with me last week. Claimed to have had sheep disappearing. Now obviously this is a very distressing event, particularly straight after lambing season, but he wondered if I had any insight. And this morning I told him I did.”

I’ve never seen Rory’s face whiten so quickly. He seems rendered speechless, as though his dad has struck him with a pile of bricks.

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