Chasing His Kickass Luna Back Chapter 373

Abby

The large dining room feels surprisingly warm and intimate as the plates are cleared away. I lean back in my chair, letting out a small, satisfied sigh.

“I take it that the food was to your liking, Chef Abby,” Reginald says with a smile.

I can’t help but grin. The flavor of fresh salmon, caught earlier today, still mingles with the lemon and thyme on my tongue. “It was delicious,” I say.

Reginald’s smile grows ever so slightly. “It was my late wife’s favorite dish,” he says. But then his face falls as he stares down at the empty space in front of him. “She, uh… She always said that fish was best served fresh.”

There’s a slight silence around the table. I catch Karl’s eye from across the way, and he seems to be a bit perturbed. It’s no wonder; he discovered where he truly came from, only to immediately find that his mother died years ago and no one ever told him.

To break up the silence, I clear my throat and sit up. “Reginald, what can you tell us about Karl’s mother?”

Reginald snaps his head up in surprise. It’s clear that he’s rarely, if ever, asked about that part of his life. For a few moments, he regards me from across the table before he suddenly stands up.

“Why don’t we discuss it during our ride?” he asks. “The sun is getting low.”

…

I tremble a bit as I sit in the saddle, but the chestnut horse beneath me strides along at an easy pace, her ears occasionally twitching as the ocean breeze hits her fur.

Karl and Reginald ride on either side of me; Karl on the back of a dappled gray horse, and Reginald on the back of the black horse that Karl was looking at earlier.

The longer we ride, the more comfortable I become. I even find myself occasionally prying my fingers on one hand away from the reins to reach forward and pat the chestnut’s neck, who snorts happily beneath my touch.

And the longer we ride, the more Reginald opens up about his late wife—about Karl’s mother.

“Alessandra was a rare breed,” he says, a fond sparkle in his eyes as he speaks. “Just as elegant and well-spoken as any queen could be, but she swore like a sailor behind closed doors.”

I have to stifle my laugh. “Is that true?” I glance over at Karl. “I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

Karl smirks, but says nothing as he rides. He seems to have an easy knack for riding, although I can see the surreptitious glances he takes toward Reginald’s mount.

“It’s true,” Reginald continues. “She was quite the athlete, too. Bested me in our training on more than one occasion. She was an excellent swimmer, a fiend on the tennis court, and also loved to ride. There was hardly a moment that I saw her out of some sort of fitness attire or riding gear.”

“How did you meet?” I find myself asking.

Reginald pauses for a moment, then sighs. “It’s not romantic, I’m afraid,” he says. “An arranged marriage. She actually hated me; on our wedding night, she took a pillow and a blanket, threw it on the floor, and said, ‘You can sleep there tonight and every night’.”

Beside me, Karl snorts. “Our marriage was arranged, too,” he muses, glancing at me. “I’d venture to say that Abby hated me just as much at the beginning.”

“I did not.” I smirk in return. “I was just… wary.”

“To be expected,” Reginald says. “Of course, Alessandra and I grew to love one another over the years. Eventually, she stopped making me sleep on the floor; although I don’t think my back ever fully recovered.”

There’s a long silence after that. I don’t want to interject, seeing as how this is Karl and Reginald’s moment, not mine. And besides, the setting sun casting a golden glow over the beach really is beautiful, and I’m getting more comfortable in the saddle.

In fact, I think I could see myself riding horses more often.

At one point, though, Karl suddenly clears his throat.

“How did she die?” he blurts out.

Reginald’s eyes widen, and he snaps his head toward Karl. “I—”

“Tell me straight,” Karl says, meeting his father’s gaze squarely. “I don’t want any sugarcoating.”

For a few moments, Reginald just looks at Karl with surprise, opening and closing his mouth repeatedly as though he’s not sure what to say. But then his shoulders slump ever so slightly and he nods.

“It’s honorable, to want to hear the truth,” he says. “Alessandra, she… she died a week after your birth. Postpartum depression. Suicide.”

I feel my stomach flip at his words. “Suicide?” I whisper.

Reginald nods. “I found her in the bathtub.”

There’s a long, tense silence after that. I chance a look over at Karl, but it’s no use; he’s looking out over the ocean, his head turned so neither of us can see. It’s clear that he’s trying to hide what must be a look of horror in his eyes.

“Karl.” Reginald suddenly reins his horse around and moves around to Karl’s side, so close that their stirrups are touching. “Karl,” he says softly, “I want you to know that it wasn’t your fault. Postpartum depression can be a horrible beast…”

I can’t be here. I can’t listen to this moment, a moment that should be shared only between father and son.

So, without a word, I urge my chestnut horse forward and plod along the beach by myself. The voices of Karl and Reginald fade into the distance until all I can hear is the soft sound of hooves on sand and the gentle ocean ebbing and flowing.

And as I ride, I place my hand over my belly and feel the little life within.

…

By the time we dismount by the stable, my legs and back are sore from the ride. But my cheeks feel warm from the sun, and I can’t help but grin as I lead my horse into the stable.

“You seem to have a knack for riding,” Reginald says. “Feel free to take Belle out whenever you please. I think she likes you.”

I feel myself blush a bit and pat the horse’s sweaty neck before the stablehand takes her away. “I might do just that,” I say softly. “It was… nice. Thank you, Reginald.”

“It was my pleasure.” Reginald leads his horse into a nearby stall before turning to me. We both exchange a silent look; Karl has been silent ever since that conversation they had earlier. I still don’t know what was said, but it’s clear that it affected him.

“He’ll be alright,” I whisper, taking a step closer to Reginald. “He just needs some time.”

Reginald nods and lets out a soft sigh, clearly relieved. It’s foreign territory for both of them; this newfound relationship is going to take quite some time to get used to, especially considering their history.

Finally, Karl puts his horse back in its stall and approaches us.

“Now then,” Reginald says, offering his estranged son a sorry smile. “If you don’t mind, Karl, I’d like you to come to my study. I have matters I must discuss with you.”

He looks at Karl, and then me. The look in his eyes is unreadable, but intriguing.

“With both of you, actually.”