Earlier that day.
"You what?" The Count abruptly shouted, slightly bewildered but what he had heard, wondering if he understood his grandson completely.
He accidentally spilled the hot tea in his hands, dribbling it on the floor. Quickly, he put the tea on the table, grabbing the cloth beside him to wipe his hands before his skin got burned.
Then, Wesley took another cloth from the table and dabbed it on the wet floor, cleaning the spill he had created. When the commotion settled, he returned his attention to the man sitting opposite him on the couch in his bedroom, quietly contemplating.
"You did what?" He repeated, looking for clarification. It was such a farfetched idea that he would never think his grandson would ever be able to conceive.
Last night, before he went to sleep, he had already decided not to push his grandson on Luisa, believing that he might be forcing the young girl into a bad situation.
