Count Raymond lingers longer than I'd prefer, dragging me into pointless, inane chatter. I smile, nodding at the right moments, my responses clipped as he drones on about irrelevant nonsense—the weather, his estate, and even the flowers I'm tending to. None of it interests me. I'm far more focused on the rhythmic snip of my scissors as I trim the roses, finding more satisfaction in the clean cuts of the stems than in anything the count has to say. I keep hoping he'll run out of things to talk about and leave me in peace, but of course, that would be too much to ask.
Then, he pauses, smiling at me in that insincere way he does, as though he's carefully crafting his next move in whatever game he's playing.
"Well, I'm glad to see you're such a reasonable person. I imagine you'll get along quite well with Oliver."
