Chapter 15
Sophie
Ashton bought me paint.
Not to be confused with picking up my paints, which my sister still hasn’t done—Ashton went to the art store in Battle Harbour yesterday afternoon and bought out their stock of paint and canvases and had them delivered to the castle this morning.
Boxes containing tubes of paint, all the colours of the rainbow, all pristine and ready to use, just for me. A crate of canvases, of all sizes, all silent and waiting for me to give them something to say.
Brushes. A brand-new palette without the stains I’ve never been able to scrub off. An easel I set up by the window so I can see the ocean.
If I had ten good toes, I’d be dancing with joy, with disbelief, with confusion because why did Ashton do this? Why all this? The visiting, the keeping me company. It’s like he’s babysitting me to keep me from getting into trouble.
Only I never get into trouble, and it’s been years since I’ve needed a babysitter.
Why is he being so nice to me?
Ashton has been a surprise since the accident—visiting me, talking like we’re friends and playing Yahtzee with me for hours. He acts like he’s concerned about my well-being.
At first, I thought it was guilt, but after spending a few hours with him, it’s obvious Ashton doesn’t feel guilty.
He never brings up the accident, save asking about the pain level and if I want him to find something to make me feel so much better.
There must be some sort of remorse—he’s not a sociopath—but there’s been no grovelling for forgiveness.
I’m glad. I don’t like grovelling. It always annoys me when I find myself apologizing to people when the problem isn’t mine.
I’m a people pleaser. I apologize too much. I’m nice, according to Ashton. I’ve never thought that was a problem before.
When I get mad, I bury it, and it comes out in my painting, angry strokes of red and black. When I have to confront someone, I… don’t. Not really. It’s better to catch bees with honey rather than vinegar, and I take that to heart, even when I’m the one offended, or hurt or disrespected.
People rarely disrespect me.
Ashton is sarcastic, often rude, and clearly doesn’t care about the things that often keep me up at night, like making sure I haven’t hurt someone’s feelings. Stella is the same way, but when I’m with her, I find myself sinking into myself so I don’t annoy her.
Ashton doesn’t let me do that.
It’s… refreshing.
I tell myself I’m going to ask him why he’s being like this when he arrives.
I’m going to thank him for the paints and canvases and for giving me the opportunity to do what I love.
And then I’m going to demand he tell me why, and if he doesn’t give me a suitable answer, I’m going to start to assume that maybe there’s a small chance that he might actually like me.
But I’m sure he’ll have a suitable answer. Payback from him hitting me with the car, for one thing. He’s bored, is another.
There’s no way Ashton likes me.
I’m not a model or an actress, or some socialite with manners and witty conversation skills. I’m no one important, no one of interest. I’m just Sophie Laz of Battle Harbour, who works at the fish and chip place and helps out at the pet rescue.
Then I start thinking maybe I don’t need confirmation that he doesn’t like me. Because it’s nice to know there’s the slightest bit of hope that he might.
But Ashton never shows up.
I ask Marissa, the maid who has been tasked to check in on me, and she said she thought he was still in the castle, but hadn’t seen him yet today.
He bought me new paints.
He doesn’t come until almost six o’clock.
By that time, I’ve covered the first of the canvases with a blue background and started with the water and stopped checking the time.
I ate lunch alone, with a sandwich in one hand and a paintbrush in the other. I have a good start on the waves, inspired by the view out my window, but it’s warm in my picture.
I have the whole thing planned in my head and it’s only reluctantly that I clean up when I lose the light from the window.
Ashton still has yet to come by.
He doesn’t have to. Just because I’ve seen him every day since the accident doesn’t mean he’s obligated to stop by. I don’t need a babysitter. I’m fine in my own company.
I should tell him that too. I don’t like people to feel obligated.
I’ve just about convinced myself that he’s not coming today when I hear voices in the hallway and a knock on the door.
“Don’t get up, I’m just coming in,” Ashton calls and pushes the door open. “You decent?”
“I—” I manage. Ashton is here. He came, and he’s beautiful.
Snow melts on his dark hair, and his cheeks are pink from the cold.
He must have left his boots and jacket downstairs because he pads toward me in thick grey socks, bringing a gust of outdoors and a scent of something that is entirely Ashton.
But he doesn’t come to me. Instead, he veers off to check out the canvas. “Nice.”
“Do you think she’s sitting around not being decent?” His sister, Fenella, glides in behind him. “This place is freezing. Plus, it’s almost six o’clock.”
“And shouldn’t you ask if she’s decent before you open the door?” Silas is here too, carrying pizza boxes, and the smell emanating from them makes my stomach rumble with approval.
They are all here. With pizza. To see me?
I’m so glad I changed out of the paint-spotted pyjamas I had been wearing.
My flared leggings and over-sized sweatshirt can’t begin to compare to Fenella’s outfit—straight legged corduroy pants the green of a Christmas tree, with a cropped knit sweater in shades of cream and white.
Her black hair is pulled back in a ponytail that is sleek and straight without any of the frizz that surrounds my head like a halo.
“I can only hope.” Ashton’s smirk turns into a smile as he catches sight of the boxes of paint piled by the wall, the half-finished canvas I’ve been working on. “You got the paint.”
I can only stare and the three of them, completely foreign in my room strewn with books and paint and an empty teapot. “You sent me paint.”
“I did.” The smirk returns.
“You sent me a store-full. This is… Ashton, it’s too much.”
“Is it?”
“I…”
“Will you use it?” At my nod, he shrugs. “I didn’t know what your favourite colours are. They’ll have a new shipment in next week, so you’ll have to wait until then if there’s something else you need.”
“No, this is great. Thank you. Seriously—thank you, Ashton.”
Another shrug. “Shopping is fun.”
And that’s all he gives me. I’m ready to practically prostate myself with gratitude for the generous gift, and that’s all I get in return.
A shrug. Shopping is fun.
“How are you feeling, Sophie?” Silas asks. He sets the pizza boxes on the table.
“I’m good,” I say. “What’s all this?”
“This is Friday night,” Ashton says like it’s a stupid question. “Gunnar and Stella are bringing the wine.”
“You’re…” From the way Fenella shakes off her coat before unpacking the bag she carries, it seems that they’re here to stay.
“We thought we’d hang out with you,” Fenella says simply. “I think Spencer and Lyra will stop by as well.”
The three of them bring in so much noise and movement and life that I need to take a few deep breaths to steady myself before Gunnar and Stella arrive.
I’m not an overly social person, but I like people, and this is the first that I’ve realized how alone I’ve been all week. How lonely, save for Ashton’s visits.
Ashton did this, too.
Kate shows up with Lyra and Spencer. We eat pizza and drink wine, and Silas teaches us a word game that involves guessing and incorporates charades that has us all howling with laughter.
It’s so much fun, but I can’t get over how Ashton arranged it all. For me.
I’m not the only one. “So Ashton did this?” Kate asks when we have a quiet moment.
I nod. “He’s been… we’ve been… he visits me,” I finish because I’m still not sure how to categorize our relationship.
If I can categorize it as a relationship.
Spencer overhears. “What’s going on with the two of you?”
“I honestly have no idea,” I tell him truthfully.
“I had another call from Officer Crow. She wants to know if you’re going to charge him with anything.”
“Jonathon asked me the same thing,” Kate adds.
“Why would I? It was an accident.”
“An accident that Ashton caused. And an accident that means you’re not able to stay in your apartment, go to work, or even leave the castle,” my brother points out. “You might not want to charge him, but there are avenues to take where you can get compensation for your injuries.”
I frown. “You sound too much like a lawyer.”
“I am a lawyer. And I’m also your brother, so you tell me what you want me to do.”
“Nothing,” I say firmly.
“Are you sure?”
“It was an accident.” I’ve lost track on how many times I’ve told people that. “Besides…” I pause, glancing over to where Ashton talks with his sister and Gunnar. “I actually don’t remember the car hitting me.”
“You said you couldn’t remember anything.”
“That was when I was in the hospital. I’ve thought a lot about it, and I think I fell—before the car was even close to me. I think maybe I slipped on the road because I have this memory of not being able to get up.”
“But Ashton said—”
“He didn’t say anything,” I cut off Spencer. “I don’t remember the car hitting me, and you’d think I would. Because that would hurt. I’ve got some bruises but not the kind you’d get from a car running into you.”
“He wasn’t going that fast.”
“I think he stopped,” I say. “I don’t think he hit me at all.”
“Don’t say that because he’s being nice to you,” Spencer argues. “He knows what he’s doing, trying to get on your good side.”
“I don’t think that’s what he’s doing,” Lyra protests. “I thought you were friends.”
“I like him fine, but you’re my sister, and I won’t forgive him if he does something to hurt you. With a car, or without.”
“He’s not,” I tell him. And I believe that. Whatever might be happening between me and Ashton, it’s not because he has an ulterior motive.
Then again, I could be completely clueless about him.