Alone with my Elizabeth in the penthouse bedroom we have claimed, she fusses over packing. Her own clothes. Clothes for Adam.
Mine, she folds neatly, laying them in careful order, hanging them jackets with jackets, shirts with shirts. Ties ranked according to colour and formality of style.
“Elizabeth, you don’t need to do that. Ross will handle it. Concentrate on your own needs and Adam’s.”
Her back turned to me as she rummages through the suitcases, her voice quavers. “I want to do it for you, Master. There’s so little else I can do for you. I want to do this.” She doesn’t turn. Doesn’t look at me. “I understand why you want to send me away, but I don’t know when I’ll see you again. It’s so far, Master. And we don’t know how long…”
can want“It’s far away for a reason. So these thugs c
