by Alexis Hall
There was a long silence.
“Do you hate me so much?” he asked. And, God, for a moment the pale fractals in his eyes looked like broken glass.
“Of course I don’t. I would never have agreed in the first place if I hated you.”
“Then perhaps we should reconsider our arrangement rather than simply dissolving it.”
“Oh, Caspian, the whole thing is fucked up. Can’t you see that?”
He’d gone horribly pale. “I had no idea you were that unhappy.”
“I wasn’t. I mean, not all the time. I mean, it was complicated.” I sighed. It was like being trapped in one of those Choose Your Own Adventure books, but every path led to hurt. “It’s not that I wasn’t grateful for all the lovely things you gave me, and all the ways you tried to take care of me, but I was always the supplicant, y’know?”
“I didn’t ask that of you.”
A great wave of an achy interior tiredness rolled over me. I wanted to be in his arms again. And I wanted him to go away and never come back. All at the same time. “I know, but it was inevitable. I lived in your apartment and I kept your schedule and everything happened on your terms.”
“You’re right,” he said at last. “I can see how such an inherent power imbalance could have made you uncomfortable. What if I gave you the apartment?”
“You…you can’t just give me an apartment.”
“Why not? It would mean you were no longer dependent on me.”
“Right, because owning somewhere I could literally never afford wouldn’t make me feel weirdly obligated at all.”
“You wouldn’t have to. I bought it as an investment property. I would simply see it as investment in you.”
I was…oh my God, fuck knows. Pretty sure my brain was about to start melting out of my ears. I stumbled away from him and collapsed onto the swing. “I don’t want it. I’m not even sure I like it.”
“Then we can find somewhere—”
“Nonono, stop it.” I hid my face in my hands. “How can you like me enough to spend millions on me but not enough to have dinner with me? Don’t you understand why that does nasty things to my sense of self-worth? Why it makes me wonder if you want me at all?”
His hands closed around my wrists and I slowly looked up again. He was crouched in front of me, as calm again, but for the tightness of his lips and the furrow between his brows. And when he spoke, there was a note in his voice I wasn’t sure I’d heard before—something that almost could have been desperation. “I’ve wanted you since you were nothing but an imagined smile and a voice on a phone. And I want you still.”
“How am I supposed to believe that?”
“Perhaps you’re looking in the wrong places? I came to Oxford for you, didn’t I? I came here. I’ll beg if that’s what you need.”
“You know what I need.”
He gazed up at me and I could have cried over how completely fucking miserable he looked. “But that’s a phantasm. If you would abandon these ridiculous, romantic notions, we could have something real. Something attainable and sustainable.”
“That sounds like a renewable energy source, not a relationship.”
“Do you like me, Arden? Do you like the time we spend together? Do you like the way I touch you? Do you like the things I can give to you and do for you?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then why can’t that be enough for you?” His voice had gone rough with urgency. “If you would let me, I would do everything within my power to make you happy.”
“Except be honest with me about who you are.”
“I would ruin you. And I…I could not bear it.”
He still had my hands but my fingers curled with my restirring temper. “You can’t know that.”
“I’ve seen it happen. I bring nothing but pain to the people I love.”
“You mean…Nathaniel?” You didn’t exactly have to be Sherlock Holmes to deduce that.
“And you’ve met Eleanor. My own sister despises me.”
“You did, um, say you were going to drag her to therapy by her hair.”
A touch of telltale color had risen to his cheeks. “That was not well done of me, I admit. But she thinks too little of me to be coaxed, so threats are all I have left. And Machiavelli does say it’s better to be feared than loved, if one cannot be both.”
“Yeah, I think he was talking about medieval Italian politics. Not sibling relations.” Fuck. We’d gone way off track. “And anyway,” I went on quickly, “I’m not Ellery. Or Nathaniel.”
“But I’m the same. I’ve done what I’ve done. Made the choices I’ve made. And my nature is…what it is.”
I broke free of his hold. Reached out, took his face in my hands. He shuddered, but then stilled. It was like leashing a wild thing. Or cradling a butterfly on my palm. “I told you in London. I’m not scared of who you are or what you’ve done. I want you, and that means all of you. And if it also happens to involve some pretty kinky sex”—I managed a grin, though it was frail and slightly crooked—“then that’s okay with me.”
“You shouldn’t have to—”
“There’s no have to about it. For God’s sake, Caspian. Can’t you see I’m desperate for you to let go and dominate the fuck out of me? I like it rough. I like it filthy. And, most of all, I like it with you. When it is you. Not just the paper-thin façade of the man you think I want you to be.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Isn’t it? It’s just sex. And I’m a fully consenting grown-up. No matter how rubbish I am at the grown-up part.”
“Those impulses in me aren’t…that is, they don’t come from a good place.”
“Well, neither do mushrooms, but they’re delicious in garlic.”
Caspian made a sound that could have been a laugh. “I have no idea what you’re trying to say.”
“Just that maybe it doesn’t matter where your desires come from? Only that they’re there and I…um…I welcome them.”
“But I don’t like what they make me.”
“Who says they have to make you anything? What you’re into can sometimes just be what you’re into.”
“I…I…” He closed his eyes. “I don’t want to make you hate me. I don’t want to lose the bright look on your face when you see me. Your smiles. Being able to make you laugh. The way you come with such fearless joy.”
I wasn’t prepared for him to be sweet in quite such a vivid way.
“The way you blush flamingo pink.”
“Oh my God, stop it.” But I was laughing. “What about the way I fall over and vomit on you?”
“Endlessly charming.”
His teasing was a twist on the blade of a knife I’d forgotten was sticking right the fuck into me. And I was suddenly bleeding with fresh longing.
“What’s the matter?”
“N-nothing.”
He drew back, but it was only to stand and pull me from the swing and into the crook of his arm. He didn’t usually hold me like this, so there was a brief moment when he almost felt like a stranger. But his cologne swept over me like homecoming and I melted. Snuggled. Pressed my cheek into the soft, body-warmed cashmere of his jumper. And then burst into tears.
“What did I do?” he asked, sounding kind of stricken.
I made a grotesque gurgling noise. And finally managed, “I just missed you. I missed you way too much.”
“I missed you too. Enough to chase you to the ends of the earth, my Arden.”
“Only on a technicality.”
“It still counts and I’m taking it.”
I sort of laughed and sort of sobbed. “You’re not going to lose me unless you push me away. Can’t you trust, just a little bit, that I like you?”
“It’s hard to believe.”
“Why? Haven’t you seen yourself?”
“Yes, and you’re everything I’m not.”
“You mean a short-arsed nobody?”
“I mean…happy and good and free.” He tucked his free
hand beneath my chin and turned my face up to his. The pale Scottish light had made him a study in contrasts: dark hair, pale skin, those amazing eyes of his, as cold and deep and changeable as the waves of Oldshoremore Beach. I thought he was going to kiss me—I would have been okay with it if he had—but, instead, he simply held my gaze and murmured, “Come back to London with me.”
I wanted to. And I was terrified. And I was sure cuddling me was cheating. Because it was unraveling every sensible thought in my head and replacing them with sparkly rainbows and cartoon hearts. “I don’t know…I mean…I…oh God. I want to…but I’m scared and I don’t know.”
“Please.”
It was a single word. But it hit my heart like a nuke. Kaboom.
I’d always thought that begging—outside the safe context of the bedroom, anyway—would be embarrassing. But when Caspian did it for me? Put all his power and pride aside for the sake of my messed up, vulnerable heart? He didn’t seem weak at all. In fact, I couldn’t quite imagine the strength that allowed such rare and unbowed humility.
I swallowed, my mouth coppery with the residue of weeping. “It can’t be like it was.”
“I know what you need from me. You’ve made that very clear. But, Arden…”
“Yes?”
“Don’t expect me too much too soon. This goes against every instinct I possess and I’m going to…stumble.”
“All I’ve ever asked is that you try.”
“And I will. For you. If you can learn to be just a little patient.”
Oh God, I wanted to believe him. More than anything in the world. Except…“These are both pretty nonspecific and difficult-to-measure goals,” I whispered.
“Yes, well….” His mouth curled up a little—that suggestion of whimsy I loved so much. “My efforts at a quantitatively optimized approach to risk management in human relations did not meet with your approval.”
“You’ll really try it my way?”
“You’ve already left me once. What do I have to lose?”
I curled my fingers into his jumper. “Can I have some time to think?”
“Of course. You know where to find me and how to contact me.”
“Or”—I peeped up at him—“you could stay here? Just for a day or two.”
“Is that what you want?”
It seemed, suddenly, an outrageous request to make of a man like Caspian Hart: forget your insanely demanding job and the multibillions for which you’re responsible and just chill out in Scotland while I faff about with my feelings. “I know you don’t have much time—”
“My time is Bellerose’s problem. I’ll stay.”
“Wow, he’s going to extra hate me.”
“He’s not what’s important to me right now.” His hold on me tightened and I nuzzled into…well, I guess it was his armpit, which shouldn’t have been especially sexy or romantic, but it was delicious in there. This warm, Caspian-scented space for me to be in.
“You might have to meet my family.”
“I already have, very briefly. I don’t think your mother was entirely impressed with me.”
“Who? Mum?” I couldn’t picture it. “Are you sure?”
“Well, unless you have a small, glaring woman with purple hair who lives in your house with your father but isn’t your mother.”
Oh. “Um, actually that’s Rabbie and Hazel. And we live in their house.”
“You and your mother?”
“Yep. Hazel is Mum’s girlfriend. And Rabbie is Hazel’s husband. And my dad is…somewhere else.”
“You know,” he said after a moment or two, “I’m beginning to realize how much I still have to learn about you.”
I gave an unconvincing, bleaty laugh. “Who me? No. Never. Open book.”
“Trust goes both ways, Arden.”
I couldn’t think of a good answer to that. Probably because there wasn’t one on account of him being, y’know, 100 percent right.
Both what he said.
And the fact that it was terrifying.
And for some reason, Caspian Hart was willing to do this for me.
I gazed up at him, blinking away tears, and tried to smile. “Next time, I’ll stick to pokey.”
Chapter 27
Introducing Caspian Hart to my family went pretty much the way I thought it would: which was to say, it was weird as hell, but everyone was super-committed to pretending it wasn’t.
Especially considering I had to skirt around our actual relationship. And he probably wasn’t what they were expecting from Ardy’s First Proper Boyfriend. He was charming, though. Attentive and courteous. Perfect gentleman caller material. Not shy, exactly, because there was too much assurance in him for that, but careful. Like he’d come to pick me up for prom and was concerned his intentions might not be deemed honorable.
And if my folks knew he was a wildly famous and important type person, they were too polite to make a big deal out of it. Rabbie did ask Caspian what he did and he replied mildly that he was in financial management. And it was only when I spotted a copy of TIME—which just happened to have Caspian right on the front, fierce and unassailable, all folded arms and moon-cold, predator eyes—that it became obvious we were being teased.
Caspian probably found the whole business excruciating.
But it made me as melty as caramel.
He made a valiant attempt to extricate himself in order to find a hotel but was met by a triple-reinforced wall of “oh no, we wouldn’t hear of it.” Because, obviously, putting the billionaire up in our tiny cottage would be much more comfortable for him.
I guess it was just lucky Hazel didn’t insist he help with the dinner. But, instead, Rabbie roped him into a game of chess. He’d tried to teach me when I was growing up, but no two ways about it, I sucked. Given I could barely decide what socks I was going to wear in the morning, it was probably fair to say strategic thinking was never really going to feature in my skill set.
We tried to warn Caspian off because Rabbie was a master and had a tough time finding people to play with, but Caspian seemed to take the role of dutiful guest very seriously indeed and soon they were settled over a board. The room filled up with a thoughtful quiet, broken only occasionally by the clack and shift of the wooden pieces.
For a little while, I stood at Caspian’s shoulder, hoping I could be the chess equivalent of the woman in a red dress who blows on the dice in every casino movie I’d ever seen. But I had no idea what was happening and he didn’t seem to need me to blow, uh, anything right then. Honestly, he looked the closest to peaceful I thought I’d ever seen him—the silk-sharp edge of his remorseless focus directed toward something that seemed to genuinely make him happy.
Another of his secrets, surrendered to me.
Eventually I left them to it and made myself useful by setting the table. Although mainly that was a smoke screen for swiping TIME. I was fully intending to read the article but it was full of words like financial transaction processing and asset management. So I let myself get distracted by the pictures instead. Caspian looked amazing in charcoal gray—all stern and sexy. And a pull quote formed a silver ribbon at the top of the page: “I have never been satisfied with success. I consider no endeavor complete until I have not merely succeeded in it, but mastered it utterly.”
Oh my.
I was pretty excited at the thought of being mastered utterly too.
Which really wasn’t what I needed to be daydreaming about right before a family meal.
The interview with Taylor Swift on the next page provided a calming influence. And, while I was wading through a paragraph about how she was totally, honestly done with boys, Mum came in and handed me an envelope.
“What’s this?” I asked.
She gestured toward the game. Mum was even quieter than usual around strangers, but it was okay. We could read each other effortlessly. “Caspian brought it?” I grinned. “Wow, what an inefficient way of delivering it.”
He glanced up. “Ah, but not all forms o
f communication take efficiency as their primary goal.”
I giggled. And everyone looked at us like we’d gone mad.
The letter turned out to be an invitation—a very posh invitation, in fact, to Ellery’s birthday, which was a ball themed around The Masque of the Red Death. It was printed on glossy black card and embossed in gold, a stylized carnival mask, suggested by a few bloodred lines, hovering somewhat ominously over “Miss Eleanor Isobel Antonia Hart requests the pleasure.” It was Ellery and not at all Ellery at the same time. And it was definitely the classiest, most intimidating invitation I’d ever received. It put Damn Frances to shame.
“Someone die?” asked Rabbie.
Caspian waved a hand dismissively. “My sister is turning twenty. She didn’t want a party, my mother insisted, and invitations that would better suit a funeral represent a compromise.”
Mum ran a finger over the shining tail of the M. “Compromises are usually just a solution nobody wants.”
“That’s how it works in my family. We sit down and come to a civilized agreement we all hate.” Caspian spoke lightly enough, almost as if he intended a joke, but I thought I caught a trace of bitterness.
It made me want to kiss him. Fill him with sweetness instead.
But I wasn’t quite ready to attempt that level of PDA in front of my parental-type units. Which left me hovering over his chair again in what I hoped was a comforting fashion. “How’s it going? Who’s winning?”
Rabbie laid his king down with a neat click. “He will. In three moves.”
“Wow. Really?”
“Aye.” I wasn’t sure how Rabbie was going to take this. Chess was kind of his thing and people generally didn’t like having their thing taken away from them. “Best game I’ve had for a long time.”
“Thank you.” The tone was mild, but Caspian looked a little flushed. Pleased.
“But”—Rabbie glanced at me—“you could’ve warned me, Arden.”
“Hey, I didn’t know he’d turn out to be a chess genius.”
Though I probably should have guessed. What couldn’t Caspian Hart do?