Chapter 238: Chapter 238: Peace was never an option
Lucas didn’t go far. That would’ve been suspicious.
He didn’t sneak out through the east corridor or vanish into the greenhouse like the last time Trevor tried to seduce him during a staff meeting. No. This time, he employed the oldest trick in the book.
He took a shower.
A long one.
With the door locked, water steaming, and every click of a cabinet timed like a well-rehearsed performance. He even let Trevor think he’d fallen asleep afterward, curled in a fluffy bathrobe, buried under towels and silence.
And then, quietly, barefoot, damp-haired, and fully clothed at last, he slipped down the west hall with a fresh cup of coffee in one hand and his laptop balanced precariously in the other.
Sanctuary awaited.
The archive room, third floor, west wing. Technically off-limits for redecorating. Realistically, never used except by Windstone when he wanted to disappear without dying.
Lucas set his coffee on a marble side table, cracked the tall window an inch to let in air, and settled into a velvet armchair older than the monarchy. The sunlight hit just right across the rug, turning dust motes into chandeliers, and for one sacred moment...
Peace.
No husband.
No interruptions.
No ruinous furniture.
Just him, his to-do list, and a diplomatic nightmare from the southern coast that he could finally answer with something other than a moan of despair or Trevor’s tongue in his mouth.
He cracked open the email chain.
"Ambassador Salen regrets the delay..." he read aloud under his breath, then promptly deleted the entire sentence. No one regrets delays. Least of all Salen. He rewrote it: ’Ambassador Salen requests a revised timeline, as agreed under the spring charter amendments.’ Polite. Firm. Technically a threat. Beautiful.
Lucas was halfway through his third email when the door creaked.
His entire spine stiffened. "Windstone, if you told him where I am, I’ll break your precious Lorraine teacups."
A pause. Then Windstone’s voice drifted through the crack of the door like a man narrating a war documentary. "I would never betray a man mid-crisis. But I suggest locking the door. He is in a good mood and hunting the mansion for you."
Lucas swore under his breath and lunged across the room, laptop still balanced precariously on one palm, and threw the lock with a soft click, as if the door could truly stop Trevor when the man was determined.
Still, silence returned.
He waited.
Counted ten seconds.
Twenty.
The breeze from the window shifted slightly.
He paused, eyes narrowing.
’No.’
’No, he wouldn’t.’
He couldn’t.
Lucas turned slowly toward the open window.
And found Trevor’s smug, upside-down face hanging just outside the frame.
"Good afternoon," Trevor said cheerfully, hanging with both arms braced on the windowsill like a very attractive, very unwanted gargoyle. "Lovely view. Though I think your taste in hiding places is questionable."
Lucas stared. "You climbed the wall."
Trevor’s grin widened. "Technically, I shimmied across the second-floor balcony and used the trellis. Very romantic. The rose vines scratched me, but I forgive them."
"You could have died."
"I do a lot of things for you. Death seemed on-brand."
He swung a leg over the sill, clearly aiming to climb inside.
Lucas surged up from the chair. "Don’t you dare...!"
But Trevor had already slipped one leg through, then the other, landing softly on the antique rug like he hadn’t just committed a minor act of royal trespassing and several violations of gravity. He looked disgustingly pleased with himself, clothes too clean for someone who’d crawled across the estate walls, and his hair just wind-tousled enough to make Lucas suspicious he’d fixed it before the final swing in.
Lucas held up one hand. "Stop. Sit. No. I have work."
Trevor tilted his head, eyes alight. "So do I. I’m working on improving morale. Yours specifically. You’re welcome."
Lucas backed up a step. "You are a menace."
"I’m your menace."
He walked forward, slow and casual, like a lion pretending it had no idea it was hunting. "You could’ve just stayed in the office. We could’ve taken a nap. Or a bath. Or the other couch."
"You broke the other couch."
"We broke it. You’re the one who said..."
"Finish that sentence and I will smother you with my laptop," Lucas snapped.
Trevor stopped. His damned purple eyes sparkled.
"You brought the laptop. You’re so cute when you pretend to be responsible."
Lucas looked toward the locked door with desperation.
Trevor followed his gaze and made a show of listening. "Windstone isn’t coming. I told him I was going to apologize. I think he left to write your eulogy."
"I’m busy," Lucas tried again, dragging the laptop to his chest like a shield. "This is work. This is what people do when they have responsibilities and titles and reputations they want to keep. And backs that hurt."
Trevor’s grin softened at that last bit, but he didn’t stop walking. "That’s why I brought you this."
He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out...
A white orchid.
Lucas’s shoulders dropped. "You’re unbelievable."
Trevor offered it forward like a peace treaty. "I thought it would look nice on your desk. Or tucked behind your ear while I..."
Lucas grabbed the flower, turned on his heel, and marched toward the bookshelf. "New rule. If I can see daylight through the window, you are banned from initiating anything that ends with structural collapse."
"Even emotional collapse?"
"Especially emotional collapse."
Trevor leaned against the desk, arms folded, pretending to be a harmless observer while Lucas planted the orchid in a water glass and tried to pretend he hadn’t smiled just slightly at the sight of it. Just slightly.
Lucas sat again, pulled the laptop onto his lap, and took a very loud, pointed sip of his coffee.
Trevor moved closer.
"Do not sit in my lap," Lucas warned without looking up.
"I wasn’t going to."
"You were."
"I was going to sit behind you and read over your shoulder like a supportive husband."
Lucas raised one pale eyebrow.
Trevor beamed. "And maybe undo a few buttons. Just to help you breathe."
"You are one poor impulse away from being banished to the east guest house."
Trevor walked around to the back of the chair, placed his hands on Lucas’s shoulders, and began to knead slowly, expertly, like he’d won a battle neither of them wanted to admit was happening.
Lucas closed his eyes. "If I let you stay, will you let me answer five emails?"
"Yes," Trevor said. "But I get one line per email."
"What kind of lines?"
Trevor leaned down, lips brushing the curve of Lucas’s ear. "Something to make you smile."
Lucas didn’t reply. But he opened the next message.
And didn’t tell Trevor to stop.