CHAPTER 49 – CASPIAN
Three days later, I’m halfway through my usual running route when a glint of baldness catches my eye. Not just any baldness—Daniel’s kind.
My brother-in-law.
The tedious man who only smiles if Penelope gives him written permission. He’s holding hands with a petite woman who’s definitely not my sister.
For a long moment, I just stare. Then I make a decision and jog straight toward them. The color drains from Daniel’s face the instant he spots me, replaced by a sweaty sheen of guilt.
“Hello,” I say pleasantly.
The woman looks curious. Daniel looks busted.
“I don’t think we’ve met,” I tell her, wiping my palm on my running shirt before offering my hand. “I’m Caspian.”
“Lydia,” she replies, smiling. She glances curiously at Daniel who is now sweating through his shirt. “Do you work together?”
“Yes,” Daniel says too quickly, already reaching for her hand. “We should go.” He tugs her away. She laughs, startled, and lets herself be pulled along.
I don’t stop them.
Instead, I take the direct route home, chest coiled with anger. Penelope might feel nothing but contempt for me, but she’s still my sister.
At home, I shower. Then I go pick up Antonio.
We were supposed to meet later, but I suggested we take a small road trip to see Penelope instead.
I wait for him outside the trattoria and notice immediately that something’s bothering him.
He steps outside, shoulders tense.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, kissing the frown on his forehead.
“Nothing.”
He’s looking at the sidewalk, at his shoes, the air — anywhere but me.
“Okay,” I say carefully.
“I’m fine!”
Once we’re both in the car, I turn to him.
“If it really is nothing, we can start driving. But if it’s something, I want to know.”
He stares right ahead, his leg bouncing.
“Whatever it is, I’m here. You couldn’t shake me off if you tried.”
He exhales. “I don’t want to ruin the mood,” he says.
I reach for his hand, slowly, giving him time to pull away if he wants to. He doesn’t.
“You can’t ruin anything, Antonio. There’s no required mood we should be having.”
His fingers curl into mine. Tight. I wait.
“I saw Ryan today, that’s all.”
I go still, the fury I felt in the library flaring back to life.
“What?”
“You know the park across from the trattoria?” he asks, his leg bouncing faster now.
“He was sitting there. Just sitting on the bench by himself like a creep.” Now that he decided to tell me, the words come in a rush.
“He had sunglasses on, but it was obvious he was staring at me. Waiting for me to notice.”
I squeeze his hand. “I hate that you had to deal with that alone.”
“Yeah, but he’s my problem, not anyone else’s.” He says it like it’s a line he’s rehearsed. His lower lip trembles. “I don’t want you to worry.”
I give his hand another squeeze.
“Can we agree that Ryan is our mutual problem from now on?”
“But he’s not harassing you,” he whispers. “Just me.”
“Come here.”
Antonio unbuckles and climbs over the console in seconds, collapsing into me with a soft exhale. I sigh in relief as I get him in my arms. He nestles his head against my shoulder. I press him against my chest, drawing slow, grounding circles on his back.
“A bully should never be just the victim’s problem. What he’s doing crosses into police territory.”
“I don’t want that,” he says immediately, his voice muffled against my chest. “It’s too messy.”
“I get it, and it’s your call. I just wanted to point it out. Nothing about this is on you. It’s all on him.”
He rests his head against my chest for a while, his breathing gradually leveling out.
“I’m so proud of you. You were afraid to tell me, but you did anyway.”
I kiss him softly, and only when he’s completely calmed down do I stop holding him so that he can go back to his seat.
The drive to Wycliffe Memorial Hospital takes almost an hour.
Feeling considerably better, Antonio keeps teasing me about the embarrassing emojis I sent him the other day.
I was trying to flirt. I failed spectacularly.
“At first I thought they were instructions for an ancient pagan ritual,” he says happily, looking at his phone.
He shows me the emojis, as if I could ever forget.
A shy face.
A shocked face.
A candle and…
…a tombstone.
I sent my boyfriend a fucking tombstone.
“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” I ask, but I don’t mind in the slightest.
I’m relieved to see him smiling again.
“It’s not every day I get sent the emoji equivalent of a funeral.”
“The tombstone was an accident,” I say mildly.
“Or a murder plan,” he replies gleefully.
“That’s it. I’m going to use my fountain pen from now on for all correspondence.”
Antonio shifts in his seat, looking flustered.
I shoot him an amused look.
“You alright?”
“Yes,” he says too fast.
Biting the inside of my cheek, I lower my voice.
“I’m going to correspond with you later, Antonio. Extensively.”
He groans.
“It’s a good thing we’re going to a hospital. I’m pushing you out of a
moving vehicle if you don’t stop tormenting me.”
A pause.
“But you’re totally going to correspond with me—and you’re showing me your fountain pen.”
When we arrive at the hospital, Antonio goes to the canteen to grab a coffee with Sophia.
We agree to meet there when I’m finished.
I buy two coffees from the small kiosk at the front and follow the signs to the neurosurgery administration.
Penelope doesn’t look up when I knock.
“Busy?” I ask, closing the door behind me.
“You know I am,” she says, her eyes flicking to assess me with surgical coldness before she turns back toward her computer screen.
“I brought coffee.”
I set it on her desk. She looks at it like I’ve offered her a dead rodent.
She types for a few seconds before replying.
“I don’t have time for coffee.” Then, almost as an afterthought: “Or chitchat.”
“I’m not here to chat.”
She sighs, openly irritated.
“Then why are you here? Do you need me to hold your hand when you apologize to our parents?”
I take a breath.
“I have no intention of apologizing or going back there.”
Penelope looks almost intrigued.
“You really hate us that much?”
I sigh.
“I don’t hate anyone. Anyway, I’m not here to talk about our parents. How are things with Daniel?”
Her fingers pause over the keyboard.
“Why?” Her voice turns mocking. “Planning to ask him out?”
“Jesus, Penny.”
“I’ve told you not to call me that.”
Okay. No more warm-up.
“I saw him with another woman this morning.”
My sister resumes typing, her face smooth and indifferent.
“He has colleagues.”
“Does he hold hands with all of them?”
“You’re mistaken.”
“I’m not. I spoke to them.”
She exhales.
“As I said, I don’t have time for this. I have rounds, residents who can’t handle the pressure, and a donor event.”
She pauses.
“What I haven’t scheduled is petty melodrama.”
The untouched coffee sits between us, mocking me.
“You deserve a husband you can trust,” I try.
“Wrong,” she cuts in. “I earn. Everything I have, I’ve earned.”
Her gaze turns glacial. “I don’t have the luxury of collapsing over
something as insignificant as hand-holding.”
She looks at the screen again. “If that’s all, you’re dismissed.”
“I thought telling you was the decent thing to do. Now you know, at least.”
I turn toward the door. “Have a good day, Dr. Stone.”
She doesn’t stop me. Of course she doesn’t.