The walk to the tennis court feels like a small hike. Arthur’s estate is enormous. I forget just how many acres he owns, but it’s a lot. I never see anyone but the staff here and my father, who has only visited me once since I first arrived. Sometimes I feel like I’m living on another planet.
Ted, the gardener, is pruning the hedges with his team, working slowly and precisely like his life depends on it.
The court is still wet in the corners from this morning’s dew. I grab a racket from the small shed by the fence and turn, and that’s when I see him.
Not Ted. Not Arthur.
Him.
He’s tall and broad, with a chiseled jaw and sharp eyes. His hair is auburn and messy, but in an intentional sort of way. He’s wearing a navy-blue track jacket that’s stretched across his thick chest and wide sho
