Presley Estates, Wesbury
I stand by the kitchen window, tears trailing down my face, each one a silent testament to the sorrow overwhelming me. The world outside seems to crumble, leaving me feeling hollow, like a shell of my former self. The night just past haunts me.
He was there, so close, yet he felt like a stranger. My heart throbs with a sense of betrayal, the future that once sparkled with promise now appears barren, stretching out bleak and uninviting.
Then I hear footsteps.
Tara.
As she steps into the kitchen, she quickly comes over, her face lined with worry.
“Lady Aisling, are you alright?” she asks, looking concerned.
In an instant, I brush away my tears, turn to face her, and force a smile, though it feels like the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
“Hey, Tara. You’re early,” I manage to say, my voice almost too cheerful.
“You were crying…” She doesn’t seem convinced.
“It’s nothing,” I insist, trying to brush off my emotions as trivial. “Just lost in thought.”
Tara nods, though her eyes still show concern. “You’re making breakfast alone?” she asks, glancing around the kitchen.
“Yes.”
“You cooked dinner last night too. What’s going on?” she asks.
I shrug, still wearing my forced smile. “Just trying to get back to wifey duties,” I say.
“You needn’t bother yourself. You have enough on your plate with the cafe and your corporate responsibilities…” Tara’s voice trails off, but her words echo in my mind, amplifying the emptiness I feel.
“It’s okay,” I assure Tara, shaking my head slightly. “I’ve put the corporate stuff on pause. Running the cafe and that was too much. And I’ve been cutting back my hours at the cafe.”
“Is he still sleeping?” she asks about Duke.
“Yes,” I respond, a bit distantly.
“So, what are you making?” Tara’s interest piques as she moves towards the stove.
“Just some oatmeal,” I say, gesturing towards the simmering pot.
“That smells really good,” she comments, and I manage a small smile in response.
“Where’s Bianca?” I suddenly remember, realizing I haven’t seen her yet today.
“She’s in the quarters. She’ll be here soon,” Tara informs me.
I pause, then open my mouth “Tara, I want you to take your vacation,” the words coming out more abruptly than I intend.
She stops, giving me a puzzled look. “Why, Lady Aisling?”
“I’ll be leaving for Rich Oaks in a few weeks. There won’t be time for vacations or anything once I’m gone,” I explain.
“It’s not necessary. I don’t need one,” she replies with a shake of the head, her dedication evident.
But I insist. “You have to go.”
“But Lady Aisling…” she starts to protest.
“No buts,” I cut her off firmly. “And Bianca too. I have to let her know.”
Tara’s concern grows. “Then who will be here with you?”
“I’ll manage,” I say.
“Can you, though?” she presses, worry creasing her brow. “The chores here are enormous. You might not keep up.”
“It’ll be fine,” I say, more to convince myself than her. “If I need help, I’ll call someone.”
