CHAPTER 40 – ANTONIO
“Sorry about that,” I say, the memory of Mom’s vice-like grip on Caspian’s cheeks burning into my brain.
Caspian’s smile is warm. “Your parents seem wonderful.”
“They are, but Mom has a prospect book.” I grimace. Why did I bring that up? It makes my family sound like a cult.
“A prospect book?” His eyes crinkle in amusement. “What’s that?”
“It’s a—a boyfriend list Mom keeps,” I mumble.
Caspian gives me a look that I feel low in my stomach.
I fidget with the charms in my bracelet. “A few weeks ago I went on a date with a guy who owns a tarantula. I hate spiders.”
Why am I still talking?
His forearm shifts on the steering wheel and my brain shuts down.
The sleeve of his shirt rides up just enough to show muscle I absolutely can’t deal with.
He must work out a lot. Arms like that don’t just happen.
They’re built. Earned. Used. My thoughts slide somewhere dangerous when I think about him using those muscles.
I wonder if his abs are equally unfair. I want to see them.
His hands tighten slightly on the wheel as he turns. They look so capable and steady. I imagine them on my body, and immediately regret having an imagination. Then I realize he’s looking at me.
I snap my gaze away, blushing so hard my ears would probably glow in the dark. My face couldn’t get more obvious if it tried.
“Spider-Man excluded, have you liked any of the prospects?” he asks, his voice low and slightly teasing.
“I’ve always liked the part when I get to go home.”
He laughs.
“Mom just wants me to be happy,” I add. “I guess that’s what all mothers want for their kids.”
An inexplicable sadness flashes across Caspian’s face.
“I’m sure she has your best interests at heart,” he says.
“Do your parents ever try to set you up?” I ask, then immediately regret it. I don’t want to know. I’ll get jealous.
Caspian goes quiet. “With women.”
The practiced ease in his tone cracks something open in my chest.
“That is just wrong!” I say fiercely. “I’m sorry your parents are a pair of jerks—I mean, idiots. No, I do mean jerks, actually.”
He looks at me, surprised. Maybe a little touched. Hopefully touched and not offended. We’ve been in the car less than ten minutes and I’ve already insulted the Stone dynasty.
“It’s alright,” he says, though it obviously isn’t. “I’ve stopped waiting for them to change.”
“I’m sorry.” It feels inadequate, but what else could I say. “I can’t imagine what that feels like.”
“It’s okay,” he repeats, shrugging. “We’ve never been a close-knit family anyway.”
I wonder how many times he’s had to convince himself it doesn’t matter to be able to sound so matter-of-fact about it. How many excuses has he made on their behalf?
“What about your sister? Are you close with her?”
“Not really. She moved away when I was nine.”
“My sister’s friend is doing her residency with her. She’s her biggest fan.”
“Oh.” His mouth tightens briefly, then he smooths it away. “She’s in good hands then. Penelope’s an excellent surgeon.”
“That’s what I’ve heard.”
I hesitate, then poke where I shouldn’t. “Were you allowed to bring boys home?”
“I never wanted to.”
A brief relief—until jealousy sparks. So he didn’t want to bring anyone home back then, but what about his lake house? I swear he sees right through me, because the next thing he says is, “I’ve actually never brought anyone home.”
“You—what?”
“I’m not saying there haven’t been hook-ups,” he continues calmly.
I try to swallow the snarl climbing up my throat.
“But there was no one I wanted to bring home. Or ask out.”
I’m holding my breath, my toes curling when his words sink in.
“Until a few weeks ago.” His tone makes my stomach flip. “When I stepped into a small trattoria and saw a waiter who glared at me like I’d personally offended him.”
“Uh.” My eloquence once again fails me.
“That used to be my line,” he teases.
“Oddio, shut up,” I groan, but I’m smiling.
“That waiter sounds rude, by the way. I hope you gave him feedback.”
“I gave him all my cash,” he confesses solemnly.
I squirm. “That’s not how you leave a proper customer review.”
“Maybe I’ll give my ‘proper’ feedback later,” he says, his voice so flirty that my mouth opens and an embarrassing squeak jumps out.
Flustered, I point at his control panel.
”Will Elvis be singing again if I press this?”
“I’m better prepared this time. Go ahead.”
I tap the screen. Ace of Base fills the car, and I turn to him, startled.
“This is my favorite!”
“You told me you like ‘90s music,” he says, a slow grin pulling at his mouth. He looks pleased at my reaction.
“Yeah, but I didn’t think you’d remember,” I admit. “Maybe I’ll start mentioning things I like all the time.”
He holds my gaze, his voice dipping dangerously low.
“Please do. That would make me very happy.”
Oh. Okay. Um. What?
Before, I thought Caspian looked like all the questions no one dared to ask.
I was wrong. He looks like all the answers I wasn’t ready to feel yet.