Page 52 of American Royalty

Chapter Ten

“Normal is an illusion. What is normal for the spider is chaos for the fly.”

—Charles Addams

Jameson flipped his pen on the desk and leaned back in his chair. His day was over, and he’d be hard-pressed to give anyone specifics on what he’d done. During exam periods, he offered extended office hours for any of his students who had questions before his test. He also needed to copyedit his paper for the journal, but his mind was preoccupied with his new houseguest.

Duchess.

Dani.

He needed to leave. He’d run out of credible excuses to be there an hour ago and the cleaning staff had already walked past his office several times. They were ready for him to go so they could do their job. Granting their wish, he shut everything down and retired for the evening. In the staff parking garage, he nodded to his protection detail before backing out of his space. He wanted nothing more than to grab something to eat, get a hot shower, and relax with the latest issue of his favorite academic journal.

Pulling into his driveway, he was somehow relieved to see everything looked the way it usually did.

What did you think, there’d be a dozen cars, streamers, and loud music denoting a party?

Of course not. But maybe he’d expected some outward manifestation of the chaos she was causing inside of him. Something that explained why he felt the way he did. But of course, there was nothing. Because he was being ridiculous. After parking, he grabbed his crossbody bag by the handle and headed inside his house.

The pungent scent was the first thing he noticed.

What the hell? Was something burning?

“Margery?” He dropped his bag by the door and hurried toward the kitchen. As he got closer, plumes of smoke joined the acrid smell, bolstering his conclusion. Panic surged through him and he pulled his phone out of his pocket intending to call 999. There were so many people inside the house, even at this time of night. He hoped he’d be able to notify everyone in time.

He burst through the swinging door and skidded to a stop at the sight. Had a bag of flour exploded?

White powder covered every available surface: the wide butcher block of the island, the hardwood floors, even the forest green walls. Cracked brown eggshells littered the countertop. A rolling pin covered in beige gunk was precariously close to falling on the floor. A glass bowl containing that same beige glob sat on top of various pans in the sink. A loaf of sunken bread was on the stove top, next to caved-in rolls and a pan that looked like halfway through baking the batter had tried to escape and ended up looking like a phallic appendage. The oven door sat ajar, and smoke drifted, accusingly, from it.

It was a bloody horror show.

He turned stunned eyes to the only occupant in the room. “What the fuck is going on here?”

Dani spun around and stared at him, shock and apprehension all over her features. Flour dusted her curls, smudged her cheeks, and blotched the front of her jumper.

“Shit!”

That wasn’t from Dani. His gaze slid to the source of the sound and saw what had previously been blocked from his view by her body: an iPad propped against some books. And not just any books...

“Are those my first editions of the works of Locke, Hale, and Newton?”

“Oh! I don’t know. I needed something sturdy so I grabbed them from the library.”

Something sturdy?

Those were three rare treatises by some of the forefathers of philosophy. First editions, one with its original cover, two rebacked to period style and with their original ownership bookplates. It had taken years and a considerable amount of money to find and acquire the books and she was treating them as if they were no better than a twelve-quid tablet stand from Amazon?

Anger flared within him, burning through any mindfulness or solicitude. “Of all the bloody idiotic...”

The dismay slid from Dani’s face, leaving a closed, blank tableau behind.

She shrugged. “We’re just doing a little baking.”

A glop of batter from the stand mixer’s paddle plopped on the floor, landing next to her bare foot.

“Margery bakes several times a week and the kitchen never looks like this!”

“She’s probably better at it than we are.”