28. this distance

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twenty-eight
"Ab invito."

THIS DISTANCE

———

Winter's chill seeped through the coat draped across Lucien's shoulders. He shivered, a bitter wind nipping his nose. It was damp and wet and miserable.

Lucien was miserable.

Still, baring the frozen wasteland—the family garden—was much better than facing the familial warfront. That is, the dining table. There were only so many comments Lucien could take from his father. Only so many marriage suggestions.

A snowflake fluttered before his eyes, settling along his rose-colored nose. He wiped it away with a gloved hand.

My thoughts circle you.

William's voice.

Lucien sighed. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine his face—his storm-blue eyes and long lashes. Curved lips. An arched brow.

His thoughts circled William. An endless, teasing cycle.

There isn't enough paper in the world to supply my adorations of you, Lucien Harding.

"Lucien, dear?"

He jumped, startled, and looked past his shoulder. Through the doorway, his mother stood, her arms wrapped tightly across her body to ward off the chill. The thin sweater was hardly warm enough. Her lips pressed into a hard line.

"Is everything alright?"

"Of course," he said. "I just needed some fresh air."

"Why don't you head inside? The second course has arrived."

"I'm not hungry."

"Lucien." Her voice sharpened. "Emily and her family have traveled all this way. Please, come indulge the table with conversation."

I'd rather not. "I'll be out in a second, mother."

She frowned.

"I promise," said Lucien.

"You have a minute," she said. "A minute, Lucien."

He offered a weak smile, swiveling to face the yard once more. His breath clouded in front of him, dissipating a second later.

He couldn't do this anymore. He couldn't pretend this is what he wanted. This marriage. This life.

He was not like his father. He was not Briar Harding.

Lucien took one last breath—one last frosted kiss—before returning inside. He peeled his gloves off, tucking them inside his pockets. Hanging the damp coat inside, he smoothed down his sweater, fixed his hair, and headed toward the dining hall.

His dress shoes clacked loudly against the hardwood. Clack. Clack. Clack.

"Lucien, dear!" His mother said. "How was your breath of fresh air?"

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