Chapter 26
Ashton
Iget back to the castle late that night. Fenella offers me her guest room, but I want to get back.
Get back to Sophie.
There is still light shining from under the door, but I’m worried that it’s just the fire, and that Sophie has already gone to bed. Still, I knock.
“Come in,” she calls out a moment later.
I push open her door to find her on the couch, feet on the table. Spencer brought a TV when she first moved in, and a movie is playing.
“You look half asleep.”
“You look like you haven’t even been to your room.”
I still wear my jacket, duffle bag thrown over my shoulder. “I wanted to check on you first.”
“My father checks on me twice a day. So does Mrs. Theissen. Stella calls me at least three times a day, and Spencer texts me when he has a spare minute. Everyone thinks they need to check on me.”
I keep my bag slung over my shoulder. “So I shouldn’t?”
“I like that you check up on me.” She smiles. Things shift inside me. Hard becomes soft. Soft becomes liquid.
I set down my bag. “You should go to bed.”
She shakes her head and adjusts the blanket. “Tell me about your trip.”
“We had dinner.” I sit beside her on the couch. I have the strangest urge to sit close enough to share her blanket.
I’ve never been the blanket type.
“You did more than that. Did your mother have a good time? Was she surprised?”
“Surprisingly, yes. Did she have a good time? That’s always hard to tell. We had dinner. Evan was there too.”
Sophie frowns as I mention my older brother. “Do you like your brother?”
“He’s no Spencer.”
She nods. “What else did you do? I’ve only been to Toronto once, and I was too young to remember most of it.”
“It was cold,” I report. “Not as cold as here, though. I went to a hockey game the second night. They lost.”
“Sad.”
I shrug. “I don’t care much for hockey.”
“Why did you go?”
“Because Dad got us platinum seats. When you have good seats, you go.”
“And you wouldn’t go if you had not-good seats?”
“Nope.”
“How was your flight?”
“It was okay. I like flying. I don’t know why I never got my license.”
“Because Gunnar would have thought you were copying him. Both racecar drivers, both like speed. If you were both pilots…”
I chuckle. “You’re probably right.”
“I know.”
“What have you been doing during my welcomed absence?”
“I didn’t say it was welcome.”
She doesn’t look at me when she says that, but it still feels like my stomach’s been kicked. In a good way.
“I painted. Before you start to nag me, I did my exercises and walked.”
“No one has ever accused me of nagging.”
“You kind of nag me. In a good way.”
“Must be just you.” Another kick in the stomach at the way Sophie sounds like me nagging her in a good thing.
“I had tea with Mrs. Theissen. I think she likes my Dad.”
“She—what?” I’ve never told Sophie about the day I came across Duncan and Mrs. Theissen in the hallway, and the way he was leaning against the wall suggested it was more than a conversation about staffing. “Is that a good thing?”
“He’s had a thing for her for years,” she surprises me by saying.
“And… you’re okay with that?”
“I want him to be happy, so sure. Stella doesn’t know about it, so I’ve never said anything.”
“How did you know?”
“I figured it out.”
“Are you good at figuring things out?”
She looks at me evenly. “I like to think so.”
“My sister thinks we’re spending too much time together.” I don’t know why I say it then, or like that. I want it take it back as soon as the words are out of my mouth.
But Sophie laughs. “So does mine.”
“Fen thinks I’m going to hurt you.” From the expression on Sophie’s face, I’d say that was Stella’s argument as well. And I can’t blame her. I’m actually grateful that Sophie has someone watching out for her.
“Are you? Going to hurt me?” Sophie asks in a low voice.
“I never intend to hurt anyone,” I say. “But sometimes I do.”
“You haven’t hurt me,” she points out.
“Not yet.”
“I don’t think you will.”
Her words light a spark in my chest, and I feel the warmth of the glow. My sister loves me, and my friends support me, but I’ve never had anyone believe in me like Sophie does.
It’s an odd sensation.
“Well, I’ll try not to hurt you,” I tell her.
Before she can respond, I lean forward and pull her legs toward me, settling her feet in my lap.
Her shoes are off, and she’s wearing unmatched socks as usual—one of her usual colourful woollen socks, and on her foot with the broken toes, a thick baggy sock she took from Spencer. Carefully, I peel off the baggy sock.
Her foot isn’t as swollen, and the bruises have faded somewhat, but there’s still too much purple and blue for me to feel good about it. Her two toes are still taped together.
“It looks better,” Sophie says as if she can tell my guilt has surged.
“It looks broken,” I say gruffly.
“What are you doing?” she asks as I take her heel in my lap and press my thumbs along the arch of her foot.
“How much did you walk today?”
“To the fitness centre.”
“And back down to the dining room?” I guess. “Using the stairs instead of the elevator.” Sophie shifts her gaze away. “You get this furrow between your eyes when it hurts.”
She laughs softly. “You shouldn’t know that.”
“But I do.” I do my best to ignore the soft moan as Sophie drops her head to the side. “This should help.” I work my thumbs along her arch to relax the band of tissue that I know causes her pain when she overdoes it.
“It does,” she says, with her eyes closed.
“We should paint your toenails.”
Sophie’s eyes pop open. We both look at her toes—the unbroken ones—and the chipped pink polish. “They look horrible.”
“I don’t think the polish job is the worst of your foot worries.”
“I do them myself,” she protests.
“I’m sure they looked fine three weeks ago.”
“They really didn’t. I messed up the baby toe.”
“I can fix it. Fenella used to make me paint hers when were kids.”
“Maybe,” she says.
“Don’t trust me?”
Her brown eyes meet mine. “I trust you.”
The way she looks at me…
It sends a jolt through me, but not in a good way. Not in the way it felt when I saw her on the couch. When I realized how much I missed her in the few days that I was away.
I’ve done it. I know I have. My father told me to make Sophie fall for me, and I’ve done it. It’s clear from her expression, the way she looks at me. How much she cares.
But I’m not giving myself a high five for this.
Because now Sophie has become someone I can’t hurt. Someone who I care about. And that’s the last thing I wanted.
Am I falling for her, too?
That was never part of the instructions. There was no mention of me developing feelings for Sophie in all of this, probably because my father never thinks about my heart.
But I’m thinking about it now. I’ve been thinking about it a lot.
“Are we friends, Sophie?” I ask in a quiet voice.
“I like to think so.”
I nod. “Good.” I continue to work on her arch, knowing that she’s watching me. “Good.”