15. Cassian
Cassian
My dad should be locked up. This latest idea of his is pushing the limits of what I can tolerate. Inviting Viv for dinner sounded harmless enough when he first mentioned it, but now that I’m driving to pick her up, I wish I could put the old man in a headlock and ask him what he was thinking.
I should’ve just told him she declined, that she’s too busy doing whatever the heck she’s doing here, but seeing her on the terrace earlier messed with my head.
I’ve been doing my damndest to stay out of her way, and then suddenly there she was—winded from her run, a trickle of sweat running from her clavicle down behind her black-and-green sports bra.
The words just kind of tumbled out after that.
The door opens, and Viv steps out in a black turtleneck and jeans. A loose braid hangs over her shoulder. These days she rarely leaves home in anything but designer gowns and thousand-dollar shoes. Tonight she looks more like the Viv I used to know.
I swallow loudly as she approaches the Mazda, the mansion rising up behind her like a disapproving aunt. Its mullioned windows glare at me as if I’m stealing a precious gem from its collection.
Viv swings the car door open and sticks her head inside. “Hi,” she breathes, a mischievous grin lighting up her face.
It’s like a fist to the ribs, that smile, and I find myself returning it with a lopsided one of my own. “Hi.”
Her green eyes catch mine as she settles in, and I swear an electric hum fills the air. “Thanks for the ride.”
I shift into gear and pull onto the road that winds to the back of the estate. “You sure you want to do this? It’s not too late to back out.” Her perfume is seeping into the air, coloring it with her presence, and I wonder how long it will stay trapped in the seats.
In the distance, thunder rumbles. The forecast didn’t predict a storm, but pop-up showers aren’t unusual in Wesbourne, especially as you get closer the coastline.
“Of course I want to,” Viv says. “I haven’t seen Mateo in ages.”
We ride in silence to my dad’s house, which is tucked away on the back corner of the grounds.
The place is old—built long before my great-granddad became the manager here eighty years ago—but it’s been well taken care of.
My dad keeps the grass trimmed neatly and the tiny wooden porch spotless.
Every spring, he plants new flowers in the window boxes my mother installed before she took off for god only knows where.
The first thing I did when I got here was fix the hole in the thatched roof.
Despite my dad doing the best he can, it still looks like a shabby cabin.
Its stone walls are rough-hewn, the mortar faded to nearly white.
The chimney pokes into the sky, and within a few weeks, a plume of smoke will be coming out of it every evening.
I park, and the slam of our doors echoes across the meadow as Viv and I both get out of the car. She moves slowly, as if she’s soaking it all in, and I guess in a way, it must be like stepping into a different world for her.
“I can’t believe how long it’s been since I’ve been here,” she says, gazing at the cottage. “I always thought this place looked like something straight out of a fairy tale.”
I scoff softly as I walk up the dirt path to the porch. “Wrong house.”
She doesn’t say anything as she follows me inside. My dad is sitting at the kitchen table, whittling tools spread out in front of him and shavings scattered across the floor. Gritting my teeth, I move to grab the broom and sweep up the mess.
“Vivienne,” my dad says. “You’ve gotten even more beautiful since I last saw you.”
I glance up just in time to see Viv turn rosy pink. “I see you haven’t changed at all,” she teases, pressing a kiss to both his cheeks. “How are you feeling?”
While Dad flirts shamelessly, I clean up, then pull the foil pan from the oven.
The scent of fajitas fills the air, and my stomach growls.
My appetite has skyrocketed since I’ve been here, thanks to the additional two thousand calories I’m probably burning every day.
A good thing too, because there isn’t a gym within thirty miles of here.
The manor has one, but I feel weird about using it.
I set the food in the middle of the table. Fortunately, my dad has cleared his shit off.
“That smells delicious,” Viv says. “Fajitas?”
He hums in approval. “The best in town. I would’ve cooked it myself, but—”
“—we didn’t want you to die tonight,” I say.
Above Dad’s head, Viv’s eyes catch mine, dark green and sparkling with restrained laughter. My breath catches in my throat, and it isn’t until she looks away that I’m able to breathe again. A clap of thunder reverberates through the house.
We sit down on chairs that are older than I am and eat from plates that have been scrubbed so many times, the tiny hand-painted flowers have all but disappeared from the edges. Everything’s clean, and the food is good, but it’s still a long shot from what Viv is used to.
She’s been here before, but that was years ago, back when we were kids who didn’t think about how much stuff cost or who had more of it. Innocence is bliss; the real world is a smack upside the head.
“So what are you doing at the park, Vivienne?” my dad asks, filling his tortilla. “I assumed you were too busy with wedding stuff to rough it in the country.”
She gives a tiny, embarrassed laugh and shifts in her seat. “I’m hardly roughing it. Cass even made me a latte.” Her eyes dart up to meet mine for a split second—just long enough for me to almost spill hot sauce on my lap.
“Did he?” My dad does a piss-poor job of hiding his amusement. “I wondered where he was this morning.”
“You broke my French press.” I shoot him a glare that he ignores.
He knew that if I wanted something other than the shoddy excuse for coffee he drinks, I’d have no choice but to get it from the manor.
The Wilsons don’t care if I use their high-tech espresso machine, but I still debated running into town for an Americano, if only to mitigate the risk of bumping into Viv again.
“Slipped right out of my hands while I was washing up,” the traitorous bastard says to Viv, shaking his head.
Sticking my tongue in my cheek, I inhale deeply through my nose. I swear he’s trying to play matchmaker between us, and I don’t know how many times I have to tell him before it registers that she is getting married. To someone who isn’t me. To someone who couldn’t be less like me if he tried.
“You never said what you’re doing at Belgrave, Viv.” I take a huge bite of my fajita as I wait for her response. Maybe my dad’s nosiness is rubbing off on me, because I’m dying to know.
Raindrops begin splattering against the window over the sink. Clearing her throat, Viv dabs daintily at the corners of her mouth with her paper napkin. “I’m actually here to get ready for the wedding.”
A tight knot forms in my stomach, and I toss the rest of my fajita onto my plate. Forget my father—how many times do I have to be reminded that she’s getting married before it sinks in?
He starts peppering her with questions, but I tune them out. All I can focus on is the image of Vivienne walking down the aisle, beaming at the man in a tux waiting for her, the two of them promising to love each other until the end of time.
My fork falls to the floor with a clatter, shattering the picture in my mind. Vivienne and my dad both look at me as if I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have. I scoot my chair back and reach for the utensil. When I’m upright again, I keep my eyes on my food and force myself to take another bite.
“Cassian would be happy to help, wouldn’t you, son?” he says.
I jerk my head up, frowning at him. “Help with what?”
“Vivienne has a lot on her plate with the wedding. You don’t mind, right?”
“I have a lot on my plate,” I remind him. “Your plate, technically.”
He gives a dismissive wave. “There’s plenty of room in the estate budget to hire people to help with that.”
I gape at him. “And you’re only telling me this now?”
“You insisted on coming.” He shrugs as if I didn’t just uproot my life to come help him out. The sneaky git.
“It’s fine, really,” Viv says, setting her silverware neatly down on the table. “I can handle the wedding.”
“Nonsense,” my dad says around a bite. “Cass will help you get everything done in no time.”
I flick my gaze toward Viv, but she’s avoiding my eyes and sinking her teeth into her bottom lip. “Don’t you have a wedding planner?” I ask, then stifle a grunt when Dad kicks my leg with his good one.
Viv releases her lip, a red flush highlighting her cheeks. “At my mother’s insistence, yes, but we see things . . . differently.”
I’m not sure if she’s referring to her mum or the planner—both, probably—but it doesn’t really matter, because she could ask for my beating heart, and I’d give it to her. “Sure, I’ll help,” I say.
“No, it’s completely unnecessary.” She spins her engagement ring around on her finger. “Like you said, you have a lot of things to do—”
“I’ll handle that,” my dad cuts in.
“—and I’m sure the last thing you want to do is choose floral arrangements and make seating charts,” she finishes, glancing at me before dropping her eyes.
I push the food around on my plate. “I don’t mind,” I say, even though I’d rather shove my fork down my throat.
“Vivienne, listen to me.” My father puts a hand on her arm, and I roll my eyes. Here we go. “You’re like family to us, and family help each other out. I’m sure it can’t be easy doing all of this on your own. Let Cassian help you. It would be his honor.”
The weight of Viv’s gaze grows heavy on my face, but I keep staring at my plate.
“That would be nice. My mother is being unbearable about the whole thing, but I’m a little overwhelmed doing it all myself,” Viv says, and I shoot her a quick glance. Her cheeks are even pinker than before. “If you’re sure you don’t mind?”
“I’d be happy to,” I assure her.
“Thank you.” She gives me an apologetic smile, and that’s all it takes to make the world stop spinning, for her to become my center of gravity.
I am so fucked.