Chapter 22 #3
But Casimir had also flirted and charmed his way into Bryce’s mind to find out where her family hid their precious heirlooms. He’d stolen her family’s heirloom necklace to protect me from glamours. He’d done all of that for me, even if I’d never asked him to.
Maybe I haven’t corrupted you thoroughly enough.
And then, there were the other things he had done to me.
My face flushed at the recollection of his lips on mine, of his fingers tracing along my hips while we stood on the veranda.
No, kissing him had not been nice; it had been calamitous.
The taste of him, of his tongue, had obliterated every other sensation.
His touch was a corrosive, all-consuming toxin that had me unraveling at the edges.
I recalled the look in his eyes, that predatory, possessive gleam when they fell on my thigh, on the proof of our bargain. Onto his name.
He’d done all of these things without shame or remorse.
No, Casimir wasn’t nice. I didn’t know if there was a word for what he was. Intoxicating, maybe. Violent. Sweet.
Gwen’s look of dismay grew the longer I remained silent.
I cleared my throat. “He’s—not nice, exactly.”
Gwen’s gaze narrowed in suspicion. “Then why is he apologizing? The note said the gift was a peace offering.”
I swallowed. Gods, did Gwen always have to be so perceptive?
“Well, he kind of flew off the handle when Monty tried it on with me at the party,” I admitted. His attacking Monty had been a show of poor behavior, after all.
“He did what?” Gwen gasped at this piece of juiciest gossip. “Tell me everything.” I recounted the incident in all its gory detail.
Gwen’s jaw hung open in awe and disbelief. “I can’t believe he broke Monty’s finger to defend your honor. It’s so—” She struggled for the right word.
“Toxic?” I offered.
Gwen huffed a laugh, shaking her head. “So hot!”
“Gwen!” I scolded. “Don’t encourage him! Whatever happened to hating toxic masculinity?”
I lobbed a pillow at her, which only made her fall into a fit of giggles.
Frowning, I asked her, “What if I told you he hunted down Monty the other day and finished what he started?”
She gasped. “Are you saying Casimir broke Monty’s hand? I thought he hurt it in a sailing accident!”
I hesitated, wavering on the precipice of spilling all my secrets, and then—“No, of course not, Gwen, don’t be silly. I was only teasing.”
“Oh,” she breathed in relief, clutching at her chest. “For a moment there, I was worried your boyfriend was some sort of violent psychopath!”
Boyfriend, ugh. I grimaced, feeling both queasy and slightly impressed by my own capacity to lie to her.
Luckily, Gwen was too deep in her mirth to notice my unease.
“Thank the gods I like women,” she said with a laugh.
I raised another pillow over my head, prepared to hurl it at her, but my churlishness only elicited another round of giggles.
When she at last recovered, she said, “In Casimir’s defense, Prescott had it coming. And though you might shame me for saying it, I still think his determination to avenge your honor is kind of hot. I’m sorry, but there it is.”
I returned her jest with a weak smile.
I would run from him if I were you, the Book had warned.
“And anyways, he did send you that dress,” she reminded me, as if that made up for everything else. She shot me a knowing smirk. “Maybe you’ll have a chance to wear it to the Jewel Ball at the end of the month.”
My gaze snapped to her face. “What are you talking about?”
She rolled her eyes melodramatically. “Christ, Arden, I swear. You don’t know half of what goes on at this school.”
I grimaced at her poor choice of words. If she only knew.
“I told you about it weeks ago, remember? Anyway, a few of the Gilded families are throwing a benefit ball to raise money to build a new wing for the history department. As if this place is struggling for cash,” she added wryly.
“In any case, it’s supposed to be a pretty swanky party with champagne and a string quartet and everything. ”
I raised my brows. “Swanky?”
It was her turn to throw a pillow at me. I caught it before it connected with my face. “Yes, swanky. You have to come,” she insisted.
“Are you going to ask Neha Iyer to the ball?” I teased.
Gwen’s cheeks turned a bright shade of pink to match her hair. “Absolutely not. She’s too beautiful. I can hardly speak around her.”
“Don’t be a coward,” I admonished her.
“Oh yeah? Cowardly am I?” she said, her smile mischievous. “Are you going to ask Casimir to be your date, then?”
It was my turn to flush with embarrassment. “Okay, okay. We’re both cowards,” I said.
We both laughed, somewhat sheepishly, until Gwen broke in, “How about this? I’ll ask Neha if you ask Casimir. Deal?”
I hesitated.
“Come on, Arden. Don’t be a chicken. For fuck’s sake, you know how to fence! You can ask a boy to go out with you.”
I couldn’t see a way out of this without looking like an even bigger coward. I sighed in resignation. “Deal.”
Gwen’s face split into a triumphant grin.