9. Cassian
Cassian
The Tudor landscaper who first thought it was a good idea to let ivy grow up brick was insane.
It weasels its way between stone joints, wraps itself around window frames, and clogs up gutters and downspouts.
If you don’t cut it back in time, it can cause leaks and structural damage to the building.
It has to be the biggest nuisance known to mankind.
Cutting another vine, I tug it away from the gray stone. It’s recent growth, so it’s not going to crumble the mortar, but I pull gently anyway. This house is at least three hundred years old. I don’t need it falling down on my head.
I glance down at the huge pile of foliage accumulating below my ladder.
I’ve been at this since the sun came up, and I’ve only trimmed back a fraction of what’s on the south side.
At this rate, it’ll take me an entire week to finish.
Lifting the hem of my T-shirt, I wipe the thin film of sweat already gathering on my brow despite the seventy-degree morning. Damn this bloody ivy.
I’m about to climb down for a drink when I hear tires on the gravel driveway.
No one is expected at the park this weekend, so it’s probably a lost tourist. Last year, Greythorne Manor was converted into one of those bougie hotels, complete with busboys who look like penguins in their tuxedos.
It’s only a few miles down the road from here, and my dad said occasionally someone will turn into the wrong driveway, thinking it’s Greythorne.
You’d think they’d see Belgrave Park etched into the stone pillars, but most of them are too enthusiastic about “drinking in the country air” to notice.
Keeping my eyes peeled for the car, I trim back a few more vines. Once they crest the small hill, I’ll climb down and direct them to Greythorne.
As it grows closer, the sound gives me pause. It’s not your generic purr; it’s a raspy snarl—a tiger growling under his breath. I’d recognize that engine anywhere. I was the one who tuned it.
My heart catches somewhere near my esophagus.
That’s no tourist.
As the white SVO Range Rover appears, I grip the ladder rung and steel myself for what’s coming.
The sun is hitting the SUV’s windshield, so I can’t see who’s driving, but my money’s on Landon.
He and Viv are probably here for a quiet weekend away from the noise of the city.
My stomach clenches at the thought of them walking around the grounds hand in hand, laughing together.
I know what I’ll be doing, or rather, not doing. There isn’t enough money in the world to convince me to stay for that. I’ll find some back fence row that needs tending. Anything but hanging around here for the next few days, puking my guts out.
The car parks in front of the house. At some point in the past two minutes, my pulse picked up its pace and now has a fair shot at beating my RX-7 in a race. Why couldn’t they have come a few weeks ago, when I was still back in the city?
The driver’s door opens, but instead of him getting out, I catch a glimpse of Vivienne’s dark hair over the car roof as she circles to the back of the Rover and pops the liftgate with her key fob. No one else climbs out. If she’s not here with him, that means the rest of the gang is coming later.
I mop my forehead again before descending the ladder. May as well face the music, even if I’d rather put my hand in a blender than see the look on Viv’s face when she realizes I’m here.
By the time I’m back on the ground and rounding the corner of the house, she’s pulling a suitcase from the trunk. She’s wearing a brown short-sleeve sweater and pristine cream-colored pants. I wipe my hands on my jeans as I approach, gravel crunching under my beat-up sneakers.
She looks up when she sees me, then pushes her sunglasses onto her head, revealing a flash of surprise in those green eyes. “Cassian,” she says, her voice slightly breathless.
Somewhere a bird calls to its mate, either in warning or scolding, while a squirrel races across the front lawn, an acorn in its mouth.
The air is growing hot as the sun climbs higher in the sky, but the breeze keeps it from becoming stifling.
At least it’s easier to breathe out here, or it was until five minutes ago.
“Hey, Viv.” I shove my hands into my pockets so I don’t reach for her.
Silence stretches between us, using a Sharpie to underline what we’ve become in the past three years. With crude marks and circles, it sends me a clear reminder of just how much has changed.
“I didn’t know you were here.” Her laugh is too high, too forced as she reaches for me, several beats too late.
She wraps her arms around me, enveloping me with her scent.
I hug her back, leaving plenty of room between our bodies, when all I want to do is crush her against me.
Even holding her for a few short seconds seems like a gift.
I force myself not to think about the way she feels in my arms. Close my eyes, breathe through my mouth, count to three, and then it’s over.
She pulls back, adjusting her designer frames, which probably cost more than my weekly salary. “So,” she says, clasping her elbows, “what are you doing here, Cass?”
“I’m helping my dad.”
A tiny frown creases her brow before disappearing. “Is the place becoming too much for him?”
“Not before he broke his leg.” I kick my toe against the rocks.
“Oh my god.” Her hand flies up to cover her mouth. “Is he okay?”
I let out an abrupt laugh. “Physically, he’s fine. Mentally, though . . . It’s only been a week, and the man’s going crazy. I’m fully expecting him to come hobbling around one of these days, leg be damned.”
Viv snorts and smiles at the ground as we both picture my father dragging his cast behind him. “I’d expect no less.”
There is little that slows down Mateo Cordero, but nature got one over on him this time.
“I’m taking his place until he’s back on his feet,” I say. “That’s not a problem, is it?” My dad and I didn’t clear it with the family, but I didn’t expect them to be here much. Other than for the wedding, I didn’t realize anyone was even planning to stay over.
She lifts her head to meet my eyes. “Of course not. I’m sure my parents will be relieved they don’t have to find someone else to handle things on such short notice.”
“Is everyone else coming later?” I ask.
That small frown reappears on her forehead. “Nope. It’s just me.” The breeze whips around us, picking up her hair and blowing it around her face. She tames it with a graceful hand. “I needed a break.”
My pulse picks up speed. “You don’t usually come here alone.”
“There’s a first time for everything.”
I nod as if spending the weekend in the country by yourself is perfectly normal, and for Vivienne, maybe it would be if she didn’t care so bloody much about what everyone else wants. “Got it. I’ll stay out of your way.”
She gives me a wry look. “When have you ever been in the way?”
“First time for everything.” I shrug, which makes her laugh again, and I think I’d do anything in the world to keep her laughing for eternity.
She reaches for another suitcase, but I step beneath the liftgate and take it from her before she can hoist it down. After setting it on the driveway, I turn to get the rest of her stuff, and that’s when I see the trunk is full of luggage.
“I didn’t realize you were moving in.” There must be half a dozen bags in there, all of them large enough to hold a small child. Grabbing two by the handles, I look at Viv as I set them down.
Her cheeks flush a rosy pink, and I remember how much fun I used to have trying to get them to turn that shade. “I may have overpacked.”
“How much of this stuff is mine?” I tease.
“None of it.” Her blush deepens. “Maybe a few things?”
I toss her a grin over my shoulder. She can wear every piece of clothing in my closet if she wants.
“By the looks of it, you’ll be doing nothing but change clothes all weekend.
” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I want to punch myself in the face.
Now I’ll be forced to think about her undressing.
“I’m not just staying for the weekend,” she says.
I take a second to process this, then yank out another two bags. “How long, then?”
For some reason, it hadn’t occurred to me that she might be staying longer, mostly because none of them ever stay more than a weekend anymore.
It’s not like it was when we were kids, when the summers were full of fireflies in jars, fingers sticky from s’mores, and stargazing on the carriage house roof.
The city has sunk its roots into all of them.
I used to think Viv was the least likely to be enticed by the bright lights, the wailing sirens, and the tinkling of champagne flutes, but she’s as stuck as the rest of them.
She fiddles with her necklace, the brilliant rock on her finger loudly proclaiming that I never really knew her at all. “I’m actually staying until the wedding.”