29. Claire
29
CLAIRE
I have half an hour before dinner, so I finally make myself face the inevitable.
My initial instinct to remain alone in my room for it causes my stomach to churn, so instead, I walk into the lounge. Like this morning, Keller’s reading on one of the sofas. There’s plenty of room elsewhere, but when I walk in, he straightens to free up some space, so I join him. The low, soft, dark four-seater is incredibly comfortable. I imagine getting up from here could become a struggle after a while.
“Studying still?” I ask.
“They don’t let people become surgeons unless they get the grades,” Keller retorts dryly. “No matter your last name.”
Surgeon. That makes me look at his long, strong, skilled fingers.
“What made you want to do that?”
“My cousin,” he says with a shrug. “He explained all the reasons why that was a sound career path, and they made sense to me. I don’t have a vocation as such. My only goal is to not deplete the amount of money my father made.”
I won’t deny I’m surprised; I thought he’d be a typical trust fund baby. “You want to make your own way?”
“We Kellers aren’t Hunts, Archers, or Goltzes. We don’t have billions . I mean, we do well enough, but there aren’t hundreds of years of generational wealth behind it. My father’s the one who made us rich. So, if I can’t add to it, I can at the very least do my best to avoid wasting his cash, so I can give what was handed to me down to my children.”
A mature point of view.
“Your dad’s money will have doubled by the time you have kids, if you let it lie and get interest. So you can hand down the same amount to a couple of children.”
“Doubled? You’re funny. I mean, we place some of it in certain, steady income streams, but a good half is invested. It grows exponentially. I could give a dozen kids the same amount my father put in my initial trust fund and still have plenty to spare.”
That’s said casually, without a hint of arrogance. “So it doesn’t sound like you need to be a surgeon after all.”
“The market rises and falls. It’s handy to have a career.” After a second, he adds, “And I’d be bored if I just sat at home. I figured, if Magnus and I open our own private practice , I can work as much or as little as I want, have plenty of time for my family.” He bumps his feet to my knee, smirking. “I gotta help you with those dozen children, after all.”
I laugh, playing along. “Oh, hell no. I want two perfect children, thank you very much. A boy and a girl.”
“That sounds like a good starting point for negotiations. How about five? Five is less than twelve.”
“Five would turn me into a modern Mrs. Bennet, screaming about my poor nerves. I love kids. I would like to be able to say that again in twenty years.”
“Three,” he counters. “Three’s perfectly reasonable.”
“Aren’t you an only child? Why do you want a bunch of kids?”
“I had my cousins,” he says. “They’re all around my age and we spent a lot of time together. We might occasionally butt heads—we’re all rather opinionated—but growing up, it was like having brothers. Slightly unhinged brothers, but you can’t pick your family. And then, Octavia turned up. I freaking love that kid. Lisa couldn’t stop me from holding her when she was little. Enough that Vivi ended up crying every time she was put down, as she was so used to sleeping in my arms. I adore children.”
That’s…very sweet, and somehow redefines what I know about him so far. I certainly wouldn’t have pictured him holding a baby for ages.
“But did you help change her diapers?” I challenge, expecting a resounding no.
“I mean, as much as Lisa and Dad would. Not all the time—she had nannies, too. But if she needed to be changed when she was with me, of course I did it.”
Never mind. I know nothing about this guy. “Talk like that and you could sell me on four kids,” I joke.
“Deal.”
I clear my throat. “I need to call my grandmother. I haven’t spoken to her since the weekend and she’s freaking out a bit. Would I disturb you if I did it here?”
“Go ahead.” He returns to his textbook.
I only have fifteen minutes left until dinner, which is perfect. I can tell her I have to go if she keeps nagging.
I call, and she answers almost immediately. “Finally!”
I ignore the jab, refusing to let her corner me into repeating the justifications I already texted her. “Hi, Grandma, how are you?”
“I’d be better if I knew you were alive and well, young lady. This is not how I raised you. You could have been kidnapped and killed! Someone could just be texting in your place.”
Four days. We talked four days ago .
“Sorry you worried. Maybe we could have a secret word to share so you know it’s me. Like porcupine.”
“I would rather you answer your phone.”
“Well, it’s not always possible, between my classes, social engagements, and the fact that you’re three hours ahead,” I reply reasonably. “But tell me about the surgery! It’s so exciting. Your doctor recommended it like, what, two years ago?”
As I speak, I glance to the man responsible for my grandmother’s luck. I don’t think I’ve thanked him for that properly yet. Or I tried, but he didn’t let me.
No thanks necessary. You paid for that, with interest, if I recall.
He’s looking at me over the edge of his book.
My grandmother drones on about the grant, everything it entails—a private room, weekly appointments with a professional for months after—and repeats her belief: “This proves good things come to good people, my darling. God blessed me.”
I manage not to laugh to her face.
“How about you, sweetheart?” she finally asks.
I glance at the screen. “Dinner starts in like, three minutes—with my housemates. I have to go soon. But I’m good. I just got a job—babysitting a lovely girl.”
I decide not to tell her it comes with a car. It’s not normal, and she’ll question that.
“And I’ll come next Friday, grandma.”
“Oh, I will be out of it for most of the day, you know. But if you insist. Let’s talk about your boyfriend, young lady. He told me you haven’t been in touch with him either. Sweetheart, just because you’re in another state doesn’t mean you should neglect the people who love you like that. It’s not fair to him.”
“I’ll talk to him soon,” I assure her, lips pinched. “Got to go! Wouldn’t want to be late.”
As she despises tardiness, her need to lecture me is at war with her desire for propriety. “Well, enjoy your dinner with your roommates. But talk to Noah today.”
“It’s already ten your time. Noah’s likely going to be asleep by the time I finish dinner. But I will call him tomorrow,” I relent reluctantly. Before she can add anything, I say, “Bye!” and hang up.
I sigh deeply. Next to me, Keller snorts. “Let me guess. Feeling guilty about enjoying a good old cock in the ass, so you’re not dealing with the boyfriend.”
I glare at him. “Yes, actually. Isn’t it normal?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never cheated on anyone.”
That raises my hackles. “I’m not?—”
I pinch my lips together.
Because he’s right. Technically, I’m cheating on Noah.
“I’ll break up with him Friday,” I grumble. “It makes sense to do that kind of thing in person.”
“Sure, if you want to give him the opportunity to rage, guilt-trip, and insult you,” Keller responds lightly.
I shake my head. “He wouldn’t do that.”
“He’ll do exactly that either way, hence why you’re avoiding the issue,” he declares, closing his book, and getting to his feet. “We’d better get going. I think Claudio made pasta for you.”
The abrupt change of subject annoys me. He’s not letting me refute what he’s saying. “What makes you so sure you know my boyfriend more than I do?”
His blue eyes seek mine. “I’ve read all your messages, little ghost. His to you, yours to him, and also his to other people. He doesn’t respect you, or like you much, and he has a history of manipulating you into doing what he wants. So he’ll do all that, and you know it. Ergo, avoidance.”
“ You insult me,” I counter. “You call me a cum dumpster, a slut, like I’m some sort of object you can use.”
“You’re a chick in a relationship— with someone else —letting me use you. So, I call it what it is.” He smiles. “Let me know if you’re ready to change that label. After the asshole’s no longer an issue.”
Leaving me slack-jawed and speechless, he saunters to the elevator. I have to jog to catch up with him before the doors closed.
He’s still looking amused, and I just huff in annoyance.
I hate that he has a teeny, tiny bit of a point somewhere beneath the haughty, arrogant condescension.
Asshole.
* * *
D inner reinforces everything I’ve worked out in twenty-four hours under the Vesper roof: the food is delicious, and everyone is nice except Richard. Nobody likes Richard except for Claudio—but that doesn’t count. Claudio loves everyone.
Half of what he says seems to be veiled insults with gross, suggestive implications.
To Calla, he asks, “Saw that husband of yours with a blonde and thought, surely not. And here I thought he was into the opposite of his wife’s style.”
She rolls her eyes.
He also asks Theo if his mother’s still a MILF, and tells Keller, “Let me know when you’re tired of the cum dumpster. Wouldn’t mind giving it a go.”
It .
It’s his own insult, but Keller looks at him like he’s not planning to murder him so much as already wondering how to hide the body. “I cannot spell this out any clearer for you: you touch her, your family won’t be able to bury what’s left of you. I don’t share my things.”
His claim’s somehow diminishing me, but not nearly as much as Richard.
The jerk is fast to back off. “Just joking. Got the message.”
“Splendid. Pass the garlic bread, if you would.”
I think his parents had a bit of a premonition when they called him Richard. Dick is very much the perfect name for him. And I’m not the only one who notices. But Dick aside, I like the other vespers. Tia and Sebastian didn’t show tonight, but everyone’s here, with the addition of Charlotte, who remains pretty quiet, seated between Calla and Theo.
She doesn’t escape Dick’s attention. “So, is it true you’re done with the sharks? I wouldn’t mind keeping you around for a while if you’re looking for your next meal ticket, darling.”
Charlotte pretends her hearing is suddenly deficient, which is wise.
“Shut the hell up, Richard,” Calla snaps, twice as pissed off as she was on her own behalf.
I’m a little curious, both about Charlotte’s presence and the way the entire table—save for Dick—seems protective of her. I mean, given the events of Saturday, it’s hardly surprising. But wasn’t she with some guy from the Shark House?
I remember seeing her here Sunday night though.
I wait until we’re on our way back upstairs to ask some of my questions. “How did Richard end up here?”
Keller makes a face. “Most of us belong to a club—our parents were members and we were legacies. Almost everyone chooses to enroll. He’s a member, which gives him an in into the private houses. His aptitude tests put him in vesper. And he is smart, and rather good at manipulating people into doing what he wants. But he has no interest in our primary focus here: making good, lasting bonds with each other. All of us are going somewhere in life. If Calla wants to immediately be admitted in my medical practice in ten years, she’ll only need to give me a phone call. If I want to get a good deal on her family’s manufacturing empire, she’ll give me one. Richard doesn’t play that way.”
“Can’t you kick him out?”
He shakes his head. “Not without a true offense. He’s just annoying.”
We’ve already reached the apartment on the second-to-last floor. Walking in, I hesitate. “Are you going to come to my room tonight?”
He grins. “What would be the fun in telling you?”