Page 99 of Delicious (Delicious #1)
Chapter Three
David
I step over the threshold into the lounge that leads to the study, and the familiar scent of aged wood, polished floors, and burning peat emanating from the roaring fire fills my lungs. For a brief second, the house feels untouched, as though my grandfather is still here, roaming the halls of the estate, as though nothing has changed. But the weight of Bertie’s words clings to me.
Kelly is here.
The voices echo from the study. A chaotic mixture of sharp and irritated sounds, unmistakably my parents. I don’t need to hear their words to know the general tone of the conversation. When god was handing out subtlety, my parents weren't even on the same continent. They are furious, and the only thing that can rile them up this much is a threat to their wealth, their image and overall, their control.
The McCraig legacy is all that matters to them. Appearances, social standing, the preservation of the family name. For years, I'd tried to be the son they wanted. The one who smiled at charity functions, who played polo, who attended networking events with the daughters of noble families dangling off my arm. They'd expected me to marry someone suitable, someone who would fit seamlessly into their world. Instead, I fell in love with Kelly Baker. My Kelly. And now he’s back.
I exhale slowly, schooling my face into neutrality before stepping into the study. My father’s posture is rigid, his arms crossed over his chest, his mouth pressed into a thin line. I imagine if I was close enough, I might have been able to hear the grinding of the molars in his mouth. My mother is perched in the leather armchair, her legs crossed, one manicured hand resting in her lap while the other clutches a crystal tumbler of whisky, a single ice cube rattling about against the interior.
Bertie stands off to the side, looking equal parts exhausted and amused. He’s dealt with my family long enough to know how to navigate their tempers, but even he seems aware that today’s reading of the will is going to be more of a battle than a formality.
“Ah, David, you’ve finally joined us,” my mother says, flashing me a cool smile. “Your father and I were just discussing the rather… let's say… unexpected additions to your grandfather’s will.”
“I take it you mean Kelly,” I say flatly, refusing to play the game where we all pretend we don’t know exactly what’s going on. British nobility are good at that.
My father scoffs, shaking his head. “Of all the people he could have included… I should have known my father would pull something like this. Bloody bleeding heart. Never did him any good though, did it?”
“He was his own man,” Bertie interjects, “and he made his decisions with clarity. This will was updated only a few months before his passing.”
My father’s lips press even thinner. “And what, pray tell, did he leave to the ex-husband?”
Bertie glances at me before responding, “I cannot tell you anything about its contents, but, he will be presented with a letter.” Silence blankets the room. My mother exhales slowly, my father stares at Bertie as though waiting for him to reveal that this is all some elaborate joke.
“A letter?” my father finally says, incredulous. “That’s it?”
Bertie nods. “That’s it.”
The loosening of my father’s shoulders is instant. My mother sips her whisky, her tension unwinding like a thread slowly being pulled free.
“Well,” she says airily, “I suppose that’s nothing to get worked up over, then. No land, no money, just a sentimental little letter.” But I know better. Grandfather wouldn’t have included Kelly unless it mattered.
I swallow, turning back to Bertie. “Where is he?”
“Staying in the guest cottage,” Bertie says. “With a gentleman friend.”
A what?
The words land heavier than I expect. A dull, unwelcome ache settles in my chest. I have no right to feel this way, not after a year of silence, not after the way things ended, but that doesn’t stop the sharp twist of something ugly inside me.
My father notices. Of course, he notices. He watches me like a hawk, searching for any sign of weakness. When he speaks, his voice is clipped, pointed. “Don’t tell me you’re still hung up on him.”
“I’m not,” I say quickly. Too quickly.
A flicker of something smug passes over his face. “Good. Then I shall expect you’ll conduct yourself with dignity during the reading.”
My mother places her glass down gently, the ice shifting in the tumbler. “David, darling,” she says smoothly, “this doesn’t have to be difficult. You just need to make it clear that there’s no place for him and his type here anymore.”
I let out a dry laugh. “That’s rich, coming from you. Grandfather wanted him here.”
My father stands abruptly, his jaw tightening. “My father wasn’t in his right mind toward the end. He was sentimental. He made mistakes.”
I shake my head, anger rising. “No, he didn’t. He knew exactly what he was doing. You just hate that you can’t control it.”
Bertie clears his throat, stepping in before my father can respond. “Perhaps we should wait until the reading, shall we?”
The tension remains thick, but I don’t push further. Instead, I turn on my heel and leave the study. I need air. I need space. I step outside onto the stone terrace, breathing in the crisp Scottish air. The sky is turning grey, clouds rolling in over the hills. The scent of damp earth and the distant smell of pine settles around me, grounding me. Realising almost immediately I need to see Kelly and find out exactly what he thinks he's doing, bringing his new boyfriend here, I march across the stone, heading straight for the quad bike parked near the stables. My parents’ voices are still echoing in my head, but I don’t let them take root. I kick the engine into life, the familiar growl vibrating through my bones as I tear off through the estate. The wind whips against my face, cold and sharp, but I welcome it. As the fields blur past, I remember another ride, one from years ago.
My grandmother, Moira, had mounted one of the horses and taken off after my grandfather following an argument in which she had disagreed with him about the sale of a herd of Highland cows to a neighbouring competitor. She had used some quite fierce language when she had discovered he'd gone ahead with the sale against her wishes. She had not been privy to the fact that the family were on the brink of financial ruin, and that the income they would get from the herd would save their family's struggling business. With guilt in her mind, she had made his favourite dish, Rumbledethumps, as a peace offering, the way she always did when words weren’t enough. Later that evening, they had come back together, riding the same horse, my grandfather pressing a kiss to her temple as they entered the kitchen.
I remember sitting at the small wooden table as my grandfather ruffled my hair and said, “Get yourself someone who knows the small things about you as well as the big things. Your grandmother knows the way through to my heart is through my belly, and her Rumbledethumps is like Cupid’s arrow straight to my heart. I look at this dish, and I know that she loves me.”
I’d never forgotten those words.
The quad bike slows as I near the guest cottage. There’s warm light spilling from the windows, a stark contrast to the cold creeping into my bones. I kill the engine, swing my leg over the seat, and take a breath before knocking on the door. A very cute guy answers. He’s got sharp cheekbones, dark hair, and an easy smirk. My heart lurches, but I keep my face unreadable.
“Is he here?” I ask.
The guy glances back, then steps aside. “Yeah. Come in.”
I move past him, my pulse hammering in my ears. Kelly steps into the room, looking just as thrown as I feel. We stand there in awkward silence for a beat too long before Kelly clears his throat. “David… how have you been?”
I let out a sharp breath. “My grandfather died.”
He nods, his expression softening. “I know. I’m really sorry, David. I know how much he meant to you.”
I’m about to respond when something else spills from my mouth instead. “It’s only been a year. I guess it’s okay that you’ve moved on. But bringing your boyfriend here and flaunting him in my face? That’s not something I thought you’d do.”
Before Kelly can respond, the guy from earlier, Ashley, I think, pokes his head out from the kitchen. “Ewww, no thank you. We are not together. He could never get someone as hot as me.” He taps Kelly on the shoulder with an exaggerated grin. “Love you, babe, but you’re so not my type.”
Ashley waves before heading toward the door. “I’m going to explore for a bit. You two… work out whatever this is.”
Kelly exhales, running a hand through his hair. Then he steps back, holding the door open. “Come in.” I hesitate, but then I do. And just like that, we are alone.