Chapter 24
Her Nana had come back from town with an enormous carrot cake dripping with cream cheese icing and dotted with walnuts.
She set it down on the counter with a flourish, chattering about neighbours and who'd been caught out in the rain without a coat, who'd bought a new tractor, who was surely wasting their money.
Rune perched at the table, obediently accepting a large slice cut onto her plate.
The warmth of the kitchen, the steady drone of Nana's voice, and the sweetness of the cake made her sink deeper into her chair, oblivious to everything else for once.
The sound of footsteps in the doorway drew both their gazes.
Dorian stood there, framed by the archway.
He was so tall his head nearly brushed the lintel, his presence filling the room without a word.
Nana's shrewd eyes flicked from him to Rune, who was doing her best to pretend she saw nothing but the cake in front of her.
Rune could almost feel the fraying control slipping away from her grandmother, a force of will that rarely remained quiet.
But clearly Gramps had had a word, because she pressed her lips together for a moment, then sighed.
She cut another generous wedge and thunked it onto a plate.
"Sit. Eat," she grumbled at Dorian. "Hope you're not one of those gluten-free, sugar-free, dairy-free vegan nuts. Don't think we've got much food of that type here."
Dorian inclined his head. "I'm not."
"Good," Nana said, inclining her chin towards the living room. "Your driver dropped off a bag."
He nodded once more and moved to the table, sliding into a chair.
Rune could feel his gaze on her, almost like a hand moving over her face and neck, while she kept her eyes stubbornly on her fork.
Nana studied him a long moment, then harrumphed.
"Such a handsome face... so few brain cells," she muttered.
She turned to Rune. "I've got the green room upstairs ready.
Get him some bedding, alright? And don't be sneaking off into his room, not under my roof. "
Rune nearly choked on her cake. Dorian's expression didn't flicker, though his fingers tightened around the fork. Nana sighed, slicing another piece for herself. "Well, at least you're already pregnant."
The silence that followed was thick enough to chew on, broken only by the crackle of the wood stove and Rune's mortified cough as she reached for her glass of water. Rune managed to avoid him for the rest of the day.
The farmhouse was sprawling enough that she could slip from room to room, out to the paddock, back into the barns, without ever crossing his path.
But she knew he was there. She could feel him following her around, always at a respectful distance, his eyes, his presence, the way he seemed to stalk her without meaning to.
By late afternoon, she was in the stables with Barry, the farmhand she'd grown up alongside. Barry was broad-shouldered, his hair peppered with early grey, and he hummed as he cleared the muck with easy rhythm. Rune worked alongside him, as she brushed down the great black stallion in its stall .
They slipped naturally into Welsh. They had done all their schooling in Welsh.
Rune's voice lifted with laughter at something he said, and the sound seemed to belong here in a way that cut Dorian to the quick.
He stood just outside the doorway, half-hidden, listening.
The rolling cadence of the language washed over him without meaning, the rise and fall of familiar intimacy.
The ease of it made the green demon do a ditty in his chest.
Rune's smile was unguarded, her body relaxed, her words tumbling in a flow that made her sound younger... freer. With every exchange she had with Barry, every glance, every shared joke, Dorian felt her edging further and further from him.
He could not step inside without breaking into the conversation, and yet standing there, he felt as though he were watching her drift beyond his reach, into a world where he didn't belong and perhaps never would.
The stallion stamped a hoof, and Rune laid a hand on its glossy flank to soothe it, speaking softly in Welsh.
Barry grinned, tossing her a fond look that needed no translation.
Dorian swallowed. The smell of hay and horse sweat, the creak of the brushes, the scrape of Rune's pitchfork – all of it pressed on him until his carefully maintained control felt thin as paper.
By dinnertime, Dorian was seated at the long table when Rune was called down. Heather Bailey, small, formidable, her grey hair pinned with military precision, ran the meal like a tribunal.
"So, Mr. Albury," she began, spooning potatoes onto his plate without asking. "What do you do in London? None of that 'business' nonsense."
"Private equity," he said, steady but clipped. She narrowed her eyes. "Which means?"
"I—acquire and restructure underperforming companies."
Her fork paused. "So, you buy failing businesses, sack half the people, then sell for profit?"
He didn’t rise to the bait. "That is... one way of putting it."
Gramps chuckled low in his chest, pouring himself some gravy.
Nana pressed on, relentless. "You don't look much like a farmer. And yet here you are, ruining good shoes in my yard. Why?"
Dorian shifted slightly. "Because I'm here for Rune. May I borrow a pair of Wellingtons?"
Heather stabbed a carrot. "You will disappear into a pile of cow manure without a pair. You're here for our Rune bach, are you? Funny, you didn't strike me as a country lad. Can you milk a cow?"
"No," he admitted.
"Can you muck out a stable?"
"I can learn."
"Hmm," she muttered, unimpressed. "You don't look like a learner. Didn't learn in the 5 years Rune was in London with ya. Let me tell ya, I don't like to listen to her cry into her pillow at night."
Across the table, Rune bit into her bread, not surprised that Nana knew that she couldn't sleep at night. Gramps leaned back in his chair, eyes twinkling, enjoying every second of his wife's interrogation.
"Tell me this, Mr. Albury," Nana went on.
"Why are you really here? Because if you think you're going to flit in, upset my granddaughter, and swan off back to London, you'll answer to me.
" The silence stretched. Dorian set down his fork, met her eyes, and said evenly, "Because I want to be in Rune's life.
And until she kicks me out, I'm staying. Please call me Dorian."
Rune's fork stilled, her stomach flipping, though she kept her eyes on her plate.
Later, Dorian offered to clear the dishes, which made Nana's eyebrows climb into her hairline.
After the dishes were cleared and the house began to quiet, Rune found him waiting on the landing.
She didn't speak, only pulled fresh bedding from the laundry closet and led him down the hall.
She opened the green room, set the linens on the bed, and turned to leave.
But Dorian moved, blocking the door. She frowned, trying to brush past. His hands caught her lightly, not rough, just enough to hold her in place.
He bent his head, whispered into her hair, breathing her in. "Rune..."
Her heart beat in that familiar fast rhythm, but her voice was cool. "Don't."
"Would you stay with me?" he asked.
Her eyes shot up, sharp.
"I didn't mean-" He faltered, for once unsure. "I meant, can I talk to you?"
"Not yet," she said, stepping back.
He exhaled, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "I'm sorry about your brother." Something softened in her face, however briefly. "Thanks." Then she slipped out, leaving him in the doorway.
In her own room, the one next to his, Rune lay awake long after the house stilled.
The rain tapped gently at the window. She knew Dorian liked things a certain way, and she could bet he was next door, rearranging his room until it was tolerable.
The thought made her heart twist strangely-half pity, half exasperation.
And she wondered, not for the first time, how long she could keep him at arm's length.