“My life was not a fairytale, mon cœur.” Valois’s fingers sifted through Gunther’s hair. “You look tired,” he said softly.
“I am.” Gunther sighed. “It’s funny, really. I’m never going to get old, but it’s like I am getting old. I feel like I need a break from work.”
“From work, or from your cares and responsibilities?”
Gunther thought for a moment. “From the responsibilities,” he eventually admitted. “Can we… I mean, Mort’s off to that art camp this weekend. Can we maybe spend the weekend…?”
“Mon cœur, why do you hedge your words? Simply ask for what you need.”
Gunther swallowed. “Can I spend the weekend at your feet, please, Maître? I think I need that.”
“I think you do, too. And yes, you may do that.”
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