Chapter 35 Conrad
Conrad
Trying to date Malena was impossible.
“Here we are,” I announced. We looked up at the grand white marble columns of the Manhattan District Records Hall. A week after Isha slipped us the name, we were here.
We parked my car a block away—even I could admit the motorcycle seemed impractical—and had walked here hand in hand, bundled up against the November evening chill.
But it was all for nothing, really. I brought Mal into the city, hoping we could have dinner.
But not just any dinner, one at the Morgan Library.
It was a gilded-age donation to the city and the type of place I was sure she’d love.
I could almost see her eyes lighting up the way they had when she first walked into the mausoleum.
“Why so glum?” Malena’s voice pulled me from my thoughts.
I cleared my throat. “Nothing.”
I figured I’d take James’s advice and show Mal I could be the kind of guy you date. But, in an attempt to be romantic, I hadn’t been clear.
I’d been cryptic last night when I texted her about why we needed to go to Manhattan, mentioning a library, which was where our plans diverged, if I had to guess.
We hadn’t even left campus when she’d begun to rattle off all she wanted to figure out about Benedict Lancaster, and I wasn’t about to put a pin in all that excitement.
“The Lancaster family immigrated to the States from Germany and were naturalized at the turn of the twentieth century.” I climbed the steps, nodding along as she rattled off the facts she’d gathered, and linked my arm with hers. “Their family records, and any Van Holden ones, should be here.”
Watching her light up as she spoke, I made my decision. No way would I let her go from practically buzzing to disappointed when she learned this was my attempt at a date—it sounded like more humiliation than I cared to experience.
We entered the sparse and bland lobby that led to a stairway and then another depressingly mundane record room. It was a far cry from my gilded library plans.
She took a seat at one of the long rectangular tables that sat in between the aisles of perfectly lined-up file boxes.
“These are all the families that are in the mausoleum’s journals from that time period.” Malena handed me a sheet with a list of names. “You look for relation to the Lancasters on the first half of the list and I’ll start from the second half?”
“Great.” I sighed.
A couple of hours into sifting through the housing records, I crossed off the last set of names on my list. “I’ve only got the Carringtons.” I crossed off the final name.
“I have the Amhersts,” Mal answered.
“So…” I leaned forward and added their names and all relevant dates to the piece of paper Malena was taking notes on, where she’d also drawn up a fairly impressive family tree. “That’s the last of the relatives in the records.”
While this wasn’t the plan for the night, it was still thrilling.
“Two families have government records that connect them to the Lancasters: the Carringtons and the Amhersts.” Her finger tapped on the last one. “The Amhersts, those are the same ones with their names carved into all those campus buildings, I’m assuming?”
“One and the same,” I confirmed.
“Are there a lot of Amhersts?”
“Tons. You can’t throw a cufflink in Manhattan without hitting one.”
“Right.” She chewed on her bottom lip. “What if it’s someone you know?”
“Like Azalea?” She was an art history major, which alone put her under suspicion.
“It would make sense.” Mal stood and carefully picked up a record box she’d signed out, placing it gingerly back on the shelf.
“If she’s connected to it…” I took a deep inhale and released it through my nose.
I wanted to figure this out because for the first time in a very long time, I was determined to see something through. Even if the end result was simply proving to myself that I could.
Mal had been right that day on the boat, I could be more. I wanted to solve this thing. But that didn’t mean I was comfortable putting someone I knew in the line of fire.
“I’m not throwing her name in the mix,” I finished, looking over my shoulder and watching as she returned to the table.
Malena sat down next to me and smiled. “I happen to agree.”
That answer pushed relief down my body. “Yeah?”
“The truth comes with too much collateral damage,” she said offhandedly, like it was a fact of nature that everyone knew.
My body stiffened.
Was that why she was so reluctant to date me? Was she worried she’d be lied to, since the truth was, apparently, damaging? The realization cracked against my skull. Of course she’d think that about me.
I wasn’t James, I wasn’t the guy who had relationships. And whether I liked it or not, I had a reputation at Winchester.
“The truth doesn’t come with damage. Lies do.” My voice was firm; I needed her to know that I knew the difference. “I don’t lie. But I also don’t want to be the person who gets Azalea in trouble.”
Malena paused, wide-eyed.
“Right.” She nodded resolutely. “If it is her, we’ll keep her out of the submission. Have it end on a cliffhanger, and then that’ll be Azalea’s hint to stop.” Mal closed the folder with the family tree we’d hobbled together. “Honestly, I think that makes it even more compelling.”
“Me too. I feel good about this, Mal.” I tapped the folder.
She smiled.
“I’ll check for these three last names in the Winchester student archives this week.
Maybe some current students or recent grads are related.
In which case, we figure out if it was plausible that they were involved.
” She pulled her shoulders up with a breath, looking pleased. “Thank you for getting that name.”
I stood and took her bag before she could stubbornly insist on carrying it. The thing easily weighed as much as she did.
“That part was easy.”
“But important.” She leaned in and kissed me. Sweet and short. “You can’t fool me, Conrad Hastings. You’re invested in this.”
In this. In her. Correct on all fronts.
She pulled away, but her hands lingered on my sweater, moving up to my collar then running flat down my chest. Was she staring?
Not that I minded.
“You look nice.” Her tongue poked to the side of her cheek.
“Uhh…” I smiled despite myself; I had put more thought into my appearance than usual tonight.
And Mal always looked pretty, as evidenced by her trademark skirt and leggings.
The only thing that should have tipped me off sooner about her obliviousness was her bag filled with books. “I like to think I always look nice.”
Her face filled with the realization. “Oh.”
“It’s nothing.”
She bared her teeth in a nervous grin, trying and failing miserably to look anything but pitying. “You had other plans today,” she said slowly. “For us.”
God, now I felt even worse. At least before, the humiliation was only mine to know. “It’s not a big deal.”
“I didn’t even ask.” She closed both eyes and winced. “Sorry. I took over your night with work.”
“It’s nothing we can’t do some other time.” I took a step forward and put both hands on her waist.
And the reality was, I’d had a good time. I liked working with Malena. Talking to Malena. Being next to Malena. Having sex with her. Kissing her. Seeing her eyes widen and her entire frame practically float when she got excited about something.
I liked everything about her.
And fuck, I knew she liked me more than just this casual thing we were doing.
We’d been back from Paris for a couple of weeks now.
She woke up in my bed most mornings, and when she wasn’t in class or with Cora, our time was spent together.
I knew she wasn’t seeing anyone else, so why was it so hard to talk about it?
“You don’t have to do that,” she said. “Plan elaborate dates or anything. What we’re doing now is just fine.”
Mal dodged the relationship subject like a boxer in the ring. I couldn’t imagine that my reputation helped. Maybe she’d been hurt at some point, and then she saw me and made her judgments. And I couldn’t even blame her, I was a walking red flag.
Till her.
“Just fine is beneath you, Mal.”
“No, I mean…” Her eyes dropped and darted around my shirt. “I’m only saying, I like doing this with you.” She looked up, eyes meeting mine. “I know it’s boring for most people, but I’m having a good time.”
A smile touched my lips as she fidgeted with her fingers. I’d never seen her look this unsure or self-conscious before.
“It’s not boring,” I insisted. Against all odds, I was enjoying work that was uncomfortably close to my family business. I loved that it was something we shared. “I like doing this with you too.”
“It’s not a total wash…” She looped her fingers in the fabric of my sweater. “We made some progress.”
“We’re a good team.”
“We are.” She looked up at me impishly. “It’s a weeknight, we should probably get back to campus?”
I nodded.
After a few steps forward and several more back, it felt like tonight had me leaping in the right direction.
I’d figure her out.
I was a Hastings. I was the exception to every fucking rule.
And one way or another, I was going to show her that.