Worlds Away

by Alexa Land

  Alastair read his screen and said, “Lorelei promised she’d handle it, and that means it’ll get done immediately and properly.”

  “She’s a gem.”

  “You’re right. I don’t know what I’m going to do without her.”

  I looked up from my backpack and asked, “Is she going somewhere?”

  “I’m promoting her. She’s completely underemployed as my personal assistant. The woman has an MBA from the Imperial College Business School, for God’s sake.”

  “In that case, I’m surprised she took a P.A. position.”

  “She was having trouble finding something fresh out of graduate school, since she had little on-the-job experience. But she’s more than proven herself capable, and it’s to the company’s benefit to put her in a leadership position.”

  “When you hire someone at an executive level, do you need your board of directors to sign off on it, and if so, are they going to hassle you for promoting someone right out of school?”

  “We have no board of directors. Penelegion Enterprises is privately owned, with just the family as shareholders. That’s why no one kicked up a fuss when the family stuck me at the top of the food chain. Not that there was much to worry about. They’re still channeling all the important projects and decisions away from me. I feel like a figurehead more than anything, or, at best, a manager. Obviously, that’s the right call, since I’m still learning the ropes. But it’s also a bit frustrating.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “I made sure my family knew Lorelei’s promotion was nonnegotiable. They need to start trusting me with actual decision-making, beginning with that.” He closed the distance between us and stretched up to kiss me. Then he said, “That’s the very last thing I’m going to say about my job for the next twenty-four hours, I promise.”

  “It’s good for you to vent, though.”

  “It is, and I just did. Now I’m done.” He kissed me again and said, “This weekend is about you and me, nothing else.”

  *****

  The Penelegion family’s estate was located less than sixty miles from London, but the drive took a solid two hours. Once we got away from the city with its Friday traffic, it became a lot of fun, though. The last part was spent meandering through open pastureland on narrow country roads. When we turned onto a long straightaway with a sign that read ‘private road, no trespassing’, Alastair grinned and said, “Roger hates it when I do this, but he also knows I simply can’t help myself.”

  Laughter burst from me when he threw the car into gear and slammed on the accelerator. The Acura shot forward, and as the speedometer sailed past a hundred, he let out a whoop of delight. It was so rare to see him acting his age and cutting loose, and it made me happy. All too soon, he downshifted, and before we reached a curve in the road that took us into a woodland, we were traveling at normal speed again. But his mood remained upbeat, and there was a beautiful sparkle in his eye.

  Eventually, we came to a towering set of ornate, wrought iron gates. They looked like they were a hundred years old, but they opened with a code typed into a modern key pad. That was followed by another ten-minute drive through the forest.

  When the trees parted and our destination was revealed, I exclaimed, “Holy shit!” Alastair parked in the circular drive, and I got out of the car and failed to keep my mouth from falling open. Roger pulled in behind us and parked his SUV as I murmured, “You grew up in Hogwarts.”

  Alastair had told me on our drive that Wordsworth Manor was begun in the early 1700s, with a major expansion in the mid-1800s when his family bought it. The green-roofed manor was built from some kind of yellow stone, and the setting sun turned it to gold. While it really did resemble the mythical school with its turrets and spires, the layout was different. It consisted of a huge, central building, with wings curving around to bracket a lavish front garden, which in turn framed a massive fountain.

  Alastair looked up at the house and said, “You can tell my great-great-great-grandfather had a chip on his shoulder. We don’t have so much as a drop of royal blood, and I think that must have made him feel less-than in high society. His solution was to build himself a castle. That made him a bit of a laughing stock, but his response to the ridicule was to just keep building and making the place grander and grander, and to keep buying up all the land around us, as far as the eye can see. It never earned him the respect he wanted, though. The press just called him a shopkeeper with delusions of grandeur.”

  Roger muttered, “Bastards,” as he glanced at the beautiful estate.

  “Sadly, things haven’t changed much,” Alastair said. “Even now, after almost two hundred years as one of the richest families in the country, we’re still dismissed as nouveau riche. My family is actually embarrassed by this place, they call it flashy and ostentatious. Not me, though. I think the old girl is glorious.”

  “If they hate it so much, I’m surprised they haven’t sold it,” I said.

  “Ah, but that would be like admitting the critics were right, that it is too big, too showy, too over-the-top. So instead, they cling to it stubbornly, and when people criticize it, they pretend to laugh it off and say, ‘Ah, Bernard Penelegion, what an eccentric old fool he was!’ Never mind that he was the one who built our financial empire from nothing, and we’re all hugely indebted to him.”

  Ralph and Bertie, Roger’s brother and sister-in-law, came out to meet us just then. They were easily twenty years older than he was, and Ralph looked and acted more like his dad than a sibling. After warm greetings and hugs all around, Roger and I fetched the huge picnic basket from his backseat and carried it into the house.

  The inside was just as showy as the outside, possibly even more so. Everywhere you looked, there were rich tapestries, fussy antique furnishings, and priceless vases, paintings and statuary. I couldn’t begin to imagine what it must have been like to grow up in a house where everything looked like it belonged behind a velvet rope.

  We went all the way through the house, passing lavish parlors, a huge library, and other grand spaces. When we arrived in the kitchen, I didn’t understand it at first. It was warm, comfortable, and a bit worn around the edges. In other words, it was a stark contrast to the rest of the house. For a minute, I didn’t understand why people as wealthy as the Penelegions wouldn’t have upgraded to a high-end kitchen. But then, I got it. The family didn’t cook. They had people for that. And since the kitchen was the domain of their domestic employees, there was no reason to make it fancy. No guest would ever set foot in it. I doubted many of the Penelegions ever did either, aside from Alastair, who was perfectly at home there.

  The five of us gathered around the long, well-worn farm table at the back of the kitchen. Bertie opened bottles of local wine while Alastair and I spread out the hamper’s bounty for all to enjoy. A bouquet of wildflowers had been arranged in a glass milk bottle, and they delicately perfumed the air. We were at the side of the house, and a set of open double doors let in a gentle breeze and offered a view of a charming herb and vegetable garden. The open doors also let in a little black-and-white cat, who stretched out right in the doorway and began grooming itself.

  A couple minutes later, Bertie and Ralph’s son Mark, the groundskeeper, joined us. He had blond hair like his mother and a deep tan from countless hours making the gardens a thing of beauty. Mark shook my hand and offered me a warm smile before grabbing first Roger and then Alastair in bear hugs.

  We all spent the next couple hours feasting, talking and laughing. The Fosters had a million stories about Alastair’s childhood, but he had plenty about each of them as well. I loved watching him in that environment. He was so relaxed and happy, and perfectly at ease. He held my hand and curled up right beside me on the wooden bench, with absolutely no concern about what anyone might think about the fact that we were a couple. They, in turn, were perfectly accepting.

  Sometime later, while Alastair was at the sink rinsing glasses, Bertie surprised me by pulling me down to her height, kissin
g my cheek, and saying, “Welcome to the family, love. It does me heart good to see Alastair so happy.” That was one of the best things anyone had ever said to me. I smiled shyly and thanked her for making me feel so welcome.

  Alastair dried his hands on a dishtowel, then came over to me and linked his arm with mine as he said, “Fancy a stroll about the grounds? I could do with a bit of exercise.” I told him that sounded wonderful, and we left Roger to visit with his family as we headed out the side doors.

  The herb and vegetable garden was lit by a trio of old-fashioned, decorative lampposts that had been converted from gas to electric somewhere along the line, but still looked like something from centuries past. That was true for much of the house and grounds. I could barely get my head around the fact that parts of the property actually predated the U.S.

  We strolled down a worn cobblestone path hand-in-hand, and I marveled at the perfect stillness all around us. Alastair plucked a fat, ripe strawberry from a leafy bush and fed it to me, and after I did the same for him, I kissed him tenderly. “I’m so glad I get to share this with you,” he said as I took him in my arms. “This place and the Fosters are very important to me.”

  “Did you hear Bertie welcome me to the family? No one’s ever said that to me before.”

  “I missed it, but that’s lovely. They truly are my family, every bit as much as the Penelegions. More so in a lot of ways. I always thought it was oddly appropriate that their last name is Foster, since they practically raised me. When I look back on my childhood, what I remember most fondly are summer nights at that kitchen table with the Fosters and my sister, while my parents were in London attending galas or dinner parties or other all-important social events.”

  “You don’t mention your sister very often. Why is that?”

  “I guess it’s because there’s nothing to say. I almost never see her and have no idea what’s going on in her life. She made it clear from the start that she wasn’t going to get roped in to the family business and left for Spain right after she finished school. She barely keeps in touch with me, or any of the family. But she’s young, maybe eventually she’ll come around.”

  We continued our walk, circling around the back of the enormous structure. The gardens behind the house were fussy and regimented, everything tidy and squared off, in contrast to the casual beauty of the garden off the kitchen. When I pointed out how different it was, Alastair said, “The grand ballroom overlooks this, so it’s all for show, while Bertie’s kitchen garden is for real life.”

  The precise, geometric garden gave way to sprawling lawn, and it in turn eventually ended at the edge of a woodland. Alastair held my hand and guided me as we moved from manicured lawn to the natural environment. The path was a bit overgrown, and the moonlight was partially blocked by the trees, but he knew where he was going and pushed ahead with confidence.

  After a few minutes, a clearing appeared before us, and I murmured, “Oh wow.” An ornate wooden bench sat among wildflowers at the edge of a creek. On the other side of the small stream, a ramshackle thatched-roof cottage was gradually being reclaimed by the forest and overtaken by vines. It looked like something out of a fairytale, and I asked, “What is this place?”

  “It was a hunter’s cottage once, long ago. I used to play in it as a child, but the floor’s fallen away now. Eventually, nothing will remain but the stone walls, but those will outlast all of us.” We sat on the bench and leaned against each other as we contemplated the cottage. After a few moments he said, his voice hushed and reverent, “There’s a beauty to it I think, especially the way it’s becoming part of the natural environment. Mark wanted to restore it, but I thought we should give it back to the forest. It’s home to a family of rabbits now. They’re welcome to it and are certainly making far better use of the cottage than I would have.”

  I turned Alastair’s face toward me with a gentle touch and kissed him, and he climbed onto my lap and whispered, “I’ve missed you,” as he slipped his arms around my shoulders.

  “I’ve missed you, too. I’m so glad we’re going to be making a habit of taking Saturdays off and devoting them to us.” We spent every night together and had made love at dawn that morning before we both rushed off to work, but it felt like we were just stealing moments here and there.

  “I’m sorry it took me so long to get to the point of regular days off,” he said. “I feel awful for neglecting you.”

  “That’s not what you’ve been doing! The last couple months were insanely busy for me, too. And even if they weren’t, it’s still okay, Allie. Even if we’re not able to spend tons of time together, the time we do have is perfection.”

  “It’s the very best part of my life.”

  I kissed him again, and then I said, “Thank you for bringing me here, both to Wordsworth and to the cottage.”

  “It’s my pleasure. There are a couple more things I want to show you tonight, so let’s keep going.”

  We followed the stream as it wound through the trees, and in a few minutes we reached a swimming hole that had been created with a partial dam. Alastair turned to me and asked, “Are you up for a skinny dip?”

  “Absolutely. It’ll be like San Diego all over again, with slightly less chance of re-enacting Jaws.”

  He chuckled and repeated, “Slightly.”

  I pulled my T-shirt over my head and tossed it aside, then started unbuttoning his shirt while he unfastened my belt. When we were both naked, we waded into the water hand-in-hand. It was definitely brisk, but still a lot of fun. After maybe twenty minutes of alternately swimming, making out, and splashing and playing around, we emerged onto the grassy bank, dripping and shivering a bit. Alastair surprised me by retrieving a zippered duffle bag from behind a large rock and pulling out two thick beach towels. As he handed me one, he said, “I asked Mark to do me a favor this morning and leave these here for us.”

  “So premeditated,” I teased.

  “Oh, it was! I’ve been looking forward to bringing you to Wordsworth for ages,” he said as he scrubbed his hair with a towel, “and I wanted it to be perfect. Fortunately, the Fosters are very kind about indulging my whims.”

  I ran my gaze down his smooth, sexy body as I dried myself off. He was too tantalizing to resist. I dropped my towel on the ground, knelt on it, and kissed my way down his blond happy trail before taking his cock in my mouth. He moaned and dropped his towel before running his fingers into my damp hair. After a few minutes of sucking him, he came in my mouth with a soft cry and I drank him down.

  He was a bit shaky after that, so I spread out my towel and we curled up on it. I used the second towel as a blanket, and as I held him in my arms, Alastair whispered, “Thank you.”

  I grinned at his good manners and said, “You’re welcome.”

  “I’ll return the favor in just a moment.”

  “Later, Allie. For now, just rest.”

  He looked in my eyes as he said softly, “My sweet, beautiful Sawyer.”

  “I love it when you call me yours.”

  We spent a long time kissing, and it was tender and unhurried. Eventually, we got up and dressed, then headed to the house hand-in-hand. When it came into view, I was astonished all over again. “It’s magnificent,” I said softly. “I’ll never get used to the sight of it.”

  Alastair frowned a little as he looked up at the house. “It’s magical to me too, but knowing my family finds it an embarrassment always makes it bittersweet.”

  “Who cares what they think? I feel sorry for them if they can’t see the joy in something so whimsical and spectacular, and you shouldn’t let it color your perception.”

  “You know what? You’re absolutely right. Wordsworth is beautiful, and I love the fact that my great-great-great granddad went so over-the-top with it. If only I could have met him, he must have been delightful. I also think he’s my only kindred spirit in a very long line of Penelegions.”

  When we reached the house, we cut through the kitchen to reach a laundry room, and Alast
air stuffed the towels in the washer and turned on the machine. Then he hung the duffle bag on a hook, picked up my hand again and asked, “Fancy a tour?” Of course I agreed.

  As he led me throughout the house, I said, “Games of hide-and-seek must have been epic when you were a kid.”

  That made him smile. “Oh, they were. Roger, Mark and I would play for hours when I was home from boarding school. I’d usually win, since I was a lot smaller than them and could fit into some pretty unusual spaces. I don’t advise hiding in a chimney flue, by the way. It takes ages to wash soot from your hair.”

  “You actually did that?”

  He grinned and said, “I took my hide-and-seek seriously.”

  As we wandered through a long hall of family portraits, I said, “I just realized Mark and Roger are the same age, but Ro is actually Mark’s uncle.”

  “It’s odd, I know. They might as well be brothers, though.”

  Eventually, the tour led us upstairs, to Alastair’s blue, gold and white childhood bedroom, which was shaped like a piece of pie because it occupied a quarter of the largest of the round turrets. I was fascinated by the glimpse into his past, and asked him about several of his books, toys and mementos. The Dunford Racers were in a special glass display case, and I said, “Did you bring the convertible so it can join its friends?”

  “Oh no,” he said, squatting down so he could look inside the case. “That stays with me, always. Actually, I was thinking I should take these back to London when we leave tomorrow. May I keep them on your dresser?”

  “Of course, but you don’t want to put them in your new apartment?”

  He said, “Then I’d never see them,” as he crossed the room, hopped up on a bench seat, and opened a pair of tall windows.