Chapter 25
Callum
The house was still, wrapped in the kind of deep winter darkness that resisted morning.
Outside, the sky was a solid slate—no hint of light yet on the horizon.
My office windows arched high overhead, cold glass reflecting the soft glow of the two lamps I’d switched on.
The blinds were half-drawn, shielding the room from the void beyond.
Everything was where it should be—books aligned, papers neatly stacked—control in physical form.
I didn’t usually notice the silence in here. More accurately, I usually treasured it. But not today. Today, the room felt off-balance, like something was missing.
Or someone.
I straightened my tie—navy with a pale blue diagonal stripe—and adjusted the starched collar of my shirt. Lecture wasn’t until eight, but I needed the structure this morning. The discipline. Something to counteract the ache I hadn’t quite shaken from the night before.
The laptop fan hummed.
The clock ticked over, and the screen flickered, then filled with Isabel’s face.
Auburn hair swept back. Pearl studs. A red silk blouse that probably cost more than my motorcycle. She was sitting in one of her drawing rooms by the look of it—tasteful, muted, curated to the inch.
She didn’t smile.
“Well,” she said, lifting her teacup in a lazy sort of salute. “It’s a bit bloody early, isn’t it?”
“Lovely to see you too, sister dear.”
Her mouth curled into a wry half-smile. “I’m always glad to hear from my darling baby brother.” Her tone turned pouty. “Sometimes I feel you’ve forgotten I exist.”
“Never,” I said, stretching back in my chair.
She arched one perfectly plucked eyebrow and set down her teacup with a soft clink. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this ‘urgent’ call? What time is it there, anyway?”
“Six.”
“Ugh,” she groaned. “I’ve barely gone to bed by then.”
“Some of us have responsibilities.” I glanced at the clock, willing time to move faster and slower all at once.
“Some of us know how to live,” she quipped, a sly smile playing on her lips. “And here I thought you’d become a proper American hedonist by now.”
“You know me better than that.”
“Yes,” she said, eyes bright with amusement.
The old game of verbal chess—Isabel’s favorite. She played it with surgical precision and a hint of mischief, never revealing how many moves ahead she was.
“How’s the wedding planning?” I asked, the weight of what I needed to say pressing at the edge of my words. “Still on for May?”
“Of course.” She rolled her eyes. “Mother’s being impossible, as usual. It’s a second wedding, so you’d think it wouldn’t be such a production. But she’s got to have it her own way.”
“And you’re letting her?”
She dabbed at her lipstick with a finger, unbothered. “She’ll wear herself out eventually.”
“And the groom?”
“Not getting cold feet,” Isabel said dryly. “If that’s what you’re asking.”
I gave her a look of mock innocence.
She sipped her tea, watching me with sharp blue eyes over the rim. “You are coming, aren’t you?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I said, the resolve in my voice apparently surprising us both. “Which brings me to my point.” I hesitated. The pause dragged until Isabel’s eyebrow crept higher, expectant. “Would it be possible…for me to bring a guest?”
Her jaw practically hit the floor. There was the barest hitch in her response, like a needle skipping on a record. Then she laughed—a short, bright sound that crackled through the quiet. “Of course! You don’t even have to ask. But you can’t just leave it there. Tell me everything.”
I shifted in my chair, painfully aware of how uncharacteristic this was—how reckless, how bold, how necessary. “It’s…complicated.” The inadequacy of the word hung between us.
Isabel leaned toward the camera, curiosity sharpening every pixelated line of her face. “Since when is anything uncomplicated with you?”
“Since never.” I rubbed my temple with one hand. “But this is more than usual.”
“You’ve piqued my interest,” she said, settling back into her chair with feline satisfaction. The game had taken an unexpected turn. “Is she brilliant? Beautiful? Actually interesting enough to distract you from your work and your self-imposed exile?”
“Yes,” I said quietly.
She tilted her head. “You’re serious about this one. I thought you’d go stag forever. I never imagined you’d bring someone home again.”
Her words lanced through me. I winced but kept steady, the old wound throbbing beneath its polished bandage. Isabel’s gaze softened as she watched me walk the tightrope of silence.
“You know that’s not what I meant,” she said gently, reaching for her tea.
I cleared my throat, fumbling for a safer path. “It’s still early days.”
“But you’re ringing at six in the morning about it.”
My breath turned heavy, snagging in my chest. “It’s…someone I met through the university.”
She pounced on the hesitation like a cat with a cornered mouse. “Not saying much, are we?”
“There’s not much to say.” I paused, reconsidering my approach.
“I know you better than that, baby brother. What’s the real story, then?”
I hesitated. “She’s one of my students,” I said finally, the words unsteady but irreversible.
Isabel blinked—once, twice—then let out the most unladylike snort. She bit it back quickly, coughing into her hand to cover the sound. “Oh, Cal! You’ve truly outdone yourself!”
The familiar heat of disapproval flared in my chest. “It isn’t—”
“I knew your standards were impossibly high,” Isabel cut in with a grin sharp enough to draw blood. “But cradle robbing? Really?”
“It’s not like that,” I said slowly, deliberately. “She’s mature. Brilliant. And it’s—”
“It’s an ethical minefield, darling.”
I wrestled for the right words—something to capture the chaos and clarity of it all—but came up short. “It’s real.”
She leaned back, eyes narrowing. “You’re serious then,” Isabel repeated, softer now. “More than I realized, clearly. Or you wouldn’t have brought it to me.”
“Yes.” My voice came low but steady. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
Her expression eased, a thread of warmth slipping through the curiosity. “What’s her name?”
“Gabrielle.”
“Pretty,” she said with approval. “American, I assume? Is she terribly young?”
“She’s twenty-five.”
Isabel nodded with a thoughtful tilt of her head. “Not quite an ingénue, then. That’s something.” She studied me a moment longer, gaze sharp and considering. “Family?”
“Respectable, but not much left. Her father’s deceased, and her mother’s been absent since the start.”
“Well, at least you don’t have to worry about meeting her parents.”
“No…but she’ll have to meet ours at some point.”
Isabel’s gaze cut straight through me. “That’s what’s keeping you up, isn’t it?”
“It is,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. “I’m worried about dragging her into the family circus. But I don’t see any way around it. I can’t keep her hidden forever.”
“Nonsense.” She flicked a dismissive hand, long fingers slicing through the air. “You’ve weathered far worse.”
I leaned forward, imploring in a way that felt painfully foreign. “I can take whatever they throw at me.”
“But you’re worried they’ll rip her to shreds,” she finished for me.
“Precisely.”
Isabel tilted her head, eyes narrowing. “Since when have you cared what Mother and Father think?”
“I don’t,” I said, my voice colder than I meant it. “They’ll think what they like. They always do.”
“Then why the nerves?”
I leaned back, jaw tight. “Because she doesn’t know them. She hasn’t learned to decode every insult wrapped in charm and etiquette. And I’ve no intention of watching her be dissected by people who dress up cruelty as civility.”
Isabel stilled, amusement draining from her face. She paused, quietly, carefully, before saying, “That’s…surprisingly gallant.”
A beat passed. I wasn’t sure if it was approval. But it wasn’t disapproval.
Her gaze didn’t waver. “Do you want my advice? Or are you just looking for moral support?”
“Advice,” I said without hesitation.
“Bring her anyway.” Isabel set her teacup down and leaned in, all trace of sarcasm gone. “You can’t make them see her as you do. They won’t. But you can frame her first, before they decide who she is. Give her armor, Cal.”
I swallowed. “Will you…help me?” It came out low. Fragile in a way I loathed.
She blinked, then nodded. “Of course I will.” A pause. Then, quieter, “But do it before Mother starts in on bloodlines over the starter course.”
I let out a breath that might have been a laugh. “I’ll try.”
“So when do I get to meet her?”
“She doesn’t know about any of this yet.” The admission felt raw, unguarded. “I wanted to see if it was even possible first.”
“It is. And it’s high time, Cal.” She checked her watch. “Right, off with you. I’ve got a bridal tasting at two and a florist who thinks I’ve gone completely mad.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m hanging up now.”
“Ta-ta.”
My video window went dark.
The silence returned, but the ache had eased. Just enough to breathe.