It is not just the age difference
Luther' POV
Charlotte sat by herself on the old white bench in the garden, slowly picking at her food. The sun was setting behind her, painting her hair gold, but her face stayed tight and distant. I watched her for a moment, my hands deep in my pockets. The garden around us looked perfect, colourful flowers, a neat stone path, but none of it could soften the storm brewing inside her. I walked closer, careful not to make too much noise.
"You are still angry," I said, sitting a few inches away from her, just enough not to touch. She gave a small shrug, pushing another bite into her mouth without even tasting it.
"Your mother... she lost her husband, Charlotte. She spent twenty years loving one man, building a life with him. Losing him crushed her." I looked at her, hoping she would hear the truth in my words.
"Do not ruin the food for me," she said under her breath, chewing slower. A small part of me felt glad she liked the meal I made, but I pushed that feeling aside. I was not here to feed her pride.
"You are angry because you loved your father. That makes sense. But Sophie loved him too. She is just trying to find a way to live again."
I paused, struggling to focus when a flash of her moaning my name earlier filled my mind. God help me.
"I want to be alone," she said, her voice low and shaky. She placed the plate at her feet.
"Moving forward is not betrayal," I added, ignoring her push to shut me out. "Healing sometimes means learning how to let go."
She lowered her head, her shoulders rising and falling faster.
"I heard her once," Charlotte said suddenly, voice rough. "At night. Screaming his name. Crying so hard she could not breathe. I found her twisting on the bed, reaching out for someone who was not there."
The image she painted stuck in my mind, heavy and raw.
"She is having nightmares too," Charlotte whispered, hiding her face in her hands.
A deep part of me wanted to pull her against my chest, stroke her hair, tell her she was not alone. But I stayed still, forcing myself to stay strong, knowing one touch would break me completely.
"You need to talk to her," I said, standing up. "If you keep fighting her, you will lose her too."
I turned to leave. I needed distance. I needed to breathe before I did something reckless.
"Please," she said, grabbing my arm so fast it shocked me. Her fingers clung to me like I was the only steady thing in her world.
I pulled free gently and took a step back. Her face twisted, confusion giving way to hurt.
"Charlotte... your mother is going to marry my brother," I said, gesturing helplessly between us. "You and me? This... it cannot happen."
"You did not say that when you grabbed me in the kitchen," she snapped, standing up with fire in her eyes. "Or when you made me take my trousers off a few minutes ago."
I rubbed my forehead, feeling like my mind was splitting apart.
"You are young, Charlotte. Way too young," I said tightly. "What are you? Seventeen?"
"I am twenty!" she shouted. "I am not a child, Luther! I am a woman!"
Her voice hit me like a punch to the gut.
"I am too old for you," I said, trying to sound calm even though my heart was racing.
"Was I too young when you pushed my hand between my legs?" she threw back. "When you told me to touch myself for you?"
I looked toward the house, praying Sophie and Rupert were not nearby.
"Keep your voice down," I hissed.
Her laugh was sharp and bitter.
"Oh, now you are worried someone will hear? Now you remember you are supposed to stay away?"
I pressed my hand to my face, shame burning through my skin. How had I allowed it to get this far? How had I let myself want something so forbidden? And worse, how could I ever stop wanting her?
“Charlotte, stop,” I said, my voice tighter than I meant it to be.
“Why?” she asked, tilting her head up at me.
She was small, delicate, really and every time I looked at her, something inside me twisted. I had always gone for taller, curvier women, but Charlotte? She was nothing like them, yet I could not stop thinking about her. She had gotten under my skin, and no matter how many lines I drew, she kept stepping over them. If Stanley found out, he would never forgive me. And her mother? I didn't even want to imagine her reaction.
“I am fifteen years older than you,” I said, stepping back slightly. “You should be out there flirting with guys in your college, not messing around with someone like me.”
She looked down, silent.
“It is not just the age difference,” I continued, “It is everything. This is wrong, Charlotte.”
“No, it is not,” she said, her voice soft but clear. “Age is just a number. I know we have barely spent time together, but I think about you all the time. You cannot stop something that has not even started.”
She spoke with so much certainty, it caught me off guard. She was twenty, yes, but the way she carried herself, the way she spoke, it made her seem older. Wiser. That only made this harder. I cleared my throat. “Let me make something clear, Charlotte. Maybe I gave you the wrong idea.”
Her eyes searched mine, looking for something, hope, maybe.
“Yes, I told you to touch yourself. Maybe I wanted to see you like that. Maybe I wanted you for a moment. But that doesn’t mean I want anything more. I am not looking for anything serious, especially not with someone like you.”
I regretted the words the second they left my mouth. Her face tightened, and I saw the tears building behind her eyes. Her lips trembled, but she held her head high. I had just broken something in her and in me too, maybe, but it was the only way to stop this before it destroyed everything.
“You are disgusting,” she said, almost too quietly to hear, and then sat back down on the bench.
“I am sorry, Charlotte,” I added, turning away. “You are just not enough woman for me.”
The words burned in my throat, but I forced them out. I needed to kill this thing between us before it became something neither of us could escape. I glanced back once and saw her bury her face in her hands. My chest ached, but I walked away, back into the house.
Stanley was in the living room. “Is she alright?” he asked.
“She will be fine,” I said flatly. I could not let anything show.
“I have to check something at one of the clubs,” I lied. “I need to head out.”
“I’ll go check on her,” Sophie said, standing. I nodded and waited for her to leave. Then Stanley turned to me. “Do you think I’m making a mistake?”
“No,” I said quickly. “You know what you want.”
“That doesn’t help,” he muttered, rubbing his forehead the way he always did when he was stressed.
“You have always trusted your gut,” I said carefully. “If you think Sophie is the one, then go for it.”
He nodded but still looked troubled.
“I just hate that Charlotte is hurting through all this,” he said.
“She’ll understand,” I replied. “Give her time. I really need to go now.”
As soon as I got into my car, I knew exactly what I needed to do.
I picked up my phone and dialled a familiar number.
“Hello, sexy,” Victoria answered, her voice low and teasing.
“Our usual spot. Thirty minutes,” I said. I did not care to make small talk. I just needed a distraction. Something to help me forget Charlotte, for good. As I ended the call and tossed the phone onto the seat beside me, I gripped the steering wheel tightly. I was going to take all this tension, all this guilt, and bury it the only way I knew how. By losing myself in someone else.
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