All Chapters of I Slept With His Uncle And I Liked It: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

ElaraI walked out of Lucien Beaumont’s office without knowing whether I was angry, embarrassed, or simply too confused to feel either.Yesterday, he had told me I could stay until the end of the year.Today, he had dismissed me.There had been no warning. No discussion. No opportunity to explain myself.Just a decision.I made it to the elevator before I stopped walking.The doors opened.I stepped inside and stared at my reflection in the polished metal.I looked exactly as I had when I walked into his office. The only difference was that I no longer had a job.The doors closed.I let out a slow breath.Maybe I should have been angry.Instead, I felt strangely hollow.When the elevator reached the ground floor, I walked into the café attached to the lobby. It was usually crowded during lunch, but the afternoon rush had already passed. I ordered an iced Americano and a bagel, then found a small table beside the window.I opened my laptop.The Kessler files were still on the screen.I

Elara I was back at my desk by nine the next morning as though I had never left.There was something comforting about it. Even the smell of freshly brewed coffee coming from the kitchenette down the hall felt reassuring.My phone buzzed against the desk.Vivienne.I smiled before answering.Her face appeared on the screen, framed by a disposable surgical cap. She was already in her scrubs, walking briskly down a hospital corridor, her phone held up in one hand.“You’re alive,” she said.“Barely.”She laughed. “Good. I’ve been meaning to call you since yesterday.”“You’re busy.”“I am. I have surgery in twenty minutes.”I could see the movement behind her as she walked toward the theatre—nurses and doctors passing in both directions.“You’re calling me on your way to surgery?”“I can spare five minutes.”That was Vivienne.No matter how busy she was, no matter how long her shifts became or how many hours she spent in an operating theatre, she always found a way to check in on me.We h

Elara Vivienne had not been pleased when I told her about everything Elliot’s grandmother had asked of me.Not even slightly. “You’re having lunch with Elliot?”I had held the phone farther from my ear, lying across the hotel bed in Milan after the exhibition.“Yes.”“Why?”“Because he asked?” It was more of a question than an answer.“That is not an answer.”“It’s lunch, Viv.”“It’s never just lunch with an ex who cheated on you.”I sighed.Vivienne sighed louder.“You have no business getting involved in Vanessa’s wishes, Elara. She had a stroke, yes, and that is terrible. But you cannot rearrange your life because an elderly woman thinks you and Elliot are getting back together.”“I know.”“Do you?”I rubbed my forehead. “Vivienne.”“No. I’m serious. If it had been his uncle who suggested the two of you get back together, I would understand why you might consider it. At least he knows you. He works with you. He sees you every day.”I said nothing.“But Vanessa?” she continued. “Y

LucienI was halfway through a call with the transport coordinator when the door to my office opened.I looked up.Elara stepped inside.For a second, I forgot what the man on the phone was saying.She closed the door behind her and slipped off her coat, draping it over the back of the empty chair before walking toward the desk.The red dress was the first thing I noticed. I had never seen her wear anything like it.It was fitted, stopping just below her knees, with a high slit at the back and enough of a neckline to make it difficult to ignore. Her hair was gathered into a low, messy bun, and the red lipstick made her look nothing like the woman who had been standing in the middle of my office earlier, arguing with the installation team over the placement of a sixteenth-century portrait.Her eyes were slightly hooded, her usual alertness softened by whatever she had been drinking.I smelled the alcohol before she reached the chair. Not enough to make her incoherent, but enough to mak

LucienI was halfway through my second cup of coffee when Sebastian called to ask if I was ready.I looked down at the plate in front of me.Breakfast was something I usually ignored until someone reminded me that coffee was not a meal. This morning, however, I had eaten eggs, toast, and enough fruit to satisfy whatever argument Sebastian was preparing to make about my eating habits.“I’ll be ready in ten minutes,” I said.“You said that twenty minutes ago.”“I changed my mind.”“You’re becoming difficult in your old age.”I ended the call.By the time he arrived, I was waiting by the front door with my golf bag.We spent several hours at the club, and, as agreed, neither of us discussed work. We argued about football instead, which was considerably less productive but much easier to tolerate. Sebastian supported a team I considered objectively inferior, and he had the irritating habit of defending them regardless of how badly they played.When I returned home, Elliot was just leaving