26. Vivienne
Vivienne
Ituck my feet beneath me on the armchair in my bedroom and turn another page in Wuthering Heights.
I’ve read it so often, I have certain passages memorized, but right now I need something familiar and comforting.
Sutton would snort at Heathcliff and Cathy being “comforting,” but she doesn’t understand.
I’d rather be in the library, but after my tiff with Cassian earlier today, I don’t feel like being in the same room as him.
I never should’ve told him that Landon and I don’t have a “traditional” relationship.
I definitely shouldn’t have blurted out that the only thing keeping it from being traditional is the fact that we’re not sleeping together.
And the very last thing on earth I should’ve done is say that I’m going to change that.
Because I’m putting off having sex with Landon until the last possible moment.
He’s never even asked me for anything beyond the minimal PDA we exhibit to convince my mother that she made a good match. I don’t know what other couples in arranged marriages do, and I haven’t cared enough to find out.
The look on Cassian’s face when I told him was . . . unsettling. I don’t want to hurt him, but what I can’t figure out is why he would care in the first place. Any attraction he’s ever felt toward me has certainly died by now.
He said it himself: That kiss was nothing but the response of a twenty-year-old guy at the height of his sexual prowess. Of course he wasn’t going to turn down a quick snog, even if it was in the waiting room of the hospital while his best friend lay just feet away.
Cass never returned with the coffee. Maeve showed up soon after he left, and after filling her in on the details of Bash’s accident—the little my father was allowing me to tell—I realized nearly twenty minutes had passed, and Cass still wasn’t back.
I tried calling him, but it went straight to voicemail. All my texts went unanswered.
He was never at the hospital at the same time as me after that. I knew he was still visiting, because his leathery scent lingered in the air every time I went, and another bag of Skwinkles had always been added to Bash’s collection of get-well gifts.
Everyone else came by at random times—Marlowe, Shep, Sutton, even Finn back then, and a vast array of girls who thought they were dating my brother—but Cass always made sure he visited when no one else was there.
I don’t know how he did it. Maybe he installed a hidden camera in the room.
Anyone who goes to such lengths after one kiss wants to make sure the other person doesn’t get the wrong idea.
The next time I saw Cass was at university.
Everyone else had already returned to Cambridge, but I stayed home until Bash was well enough to go back.
When we got there, I went to Bash’s flat to help him get settled, and Cass was there.
He tried to act the same as before, but I felt the difference.
The air was stilted and stale, like in a room that hasn’t been used in too long.
His eyes didn’t seek mine out the way they used to, and when we did share a glance, he quickly dropped it.
It doesn’t make sense that he’s choosing now to get upset about my impending nuptials or my less-than-ideal relationship with my groom. But Cassian Cordero has never prided himself on being predictable before, so why start today?
I’m tired of being upset at him all the time and never knowing where I stand.
At least when we were yelling at each other, it felt as though we were finally making some progress.
Now I don’t know if he’ll even look at me again.
He looked sick when I left him in the garden with the image of Landon and me hooking up, but not any sicker than I felt.
I reach for my tea on the side table, but it’s grown cold, and I don’t feel like returning to the kitchen. As I set it back down, the faint click of a door closing comes from the hallway. My hand stays clutched around the handle of the cup for another second, then I burst into action.
I don’t know where Cass is sneaking off to, but I intend to find out. I slip into a pair of Ugg boots that Marlowe shuddered at when she first saw them. They’re not my favorites either, but they’re certainly quieter than a pair of Manolos.
Cass’s bike is already tearing down the driveway when I get outside. The engine lets out an angry snarl as it rounds the bend, and I hurry over to my car before he gets too far away for me to follow.
A tiny red taillight glows in the distance when I reach the road, so I turn left and head toward Danbury, the closest village.
Cass is going nearly ninety, but fortunately, the engine upgrades he put in my Range Rover means it eats miles like candy.
I catch up to him at the edge of town, hanging back just enough that he doesn’t recognize my SUV.
We wind our way through Danbury, with its population of ten thousand. It was a former industrial village, and I follow Cass to the south side of town, where the factories are now boarded up and lifeless.
He turns into a gravel lot, and my unease ratchets up another notch. I’ve never been here before, but I’ve heard enough stories to know that this part of the city is dangerous. Instead of turning in, I keep driving down the street, looking for a good place to park.
Finally, I spot an old shed that looks abandoned and mostly empty. I pull inside and kill the engine. After making sure my pepper spray is firmly in hand, I lock the car and walk back to where I last saw Cass.
The night hangs over everything like a black blanket. A few stars shine like diamonds on its velvety surface, but the moon is only a small sliver and hardly enough to light anything. I use the torch on my phone to make sure I don’t step in anything regrettable.
I find the entrance to the industrial park easily enough. It’s the only one that doesn’t have chains strung across the driveway. My pulse races as I approach the nearest building, praying I’m not about to walk in on some drug deal, or god forbid, Cass in the middle of having sex with a stranger.
As I get nearer, noise begins leaking from behind the metal siding. It sounds like a crowd chanting, so at least my hookup fear can be put to rest, and I’m pretty sure drug deals aren’t done in front of audiences.
A rusty door hangs crooked on its hinges, open just far enough for me to slip inside without touching it. I’m in a dimly lit corridor, but light spills from a room at the end. The sound of cheering grows louder the closer I get. When I finally reach the source, I brace myself for what’s inside.
A sea of bodies almost prevents me from entering the room. I touch a few people on the shoulder and say “excuse me,” but whether they shift out of politeness or because the entire crowd seems to be one giant organism moving together, I don’t know.
Finally, there’s enough of a break in the crowd to see what everyone’s watching. Two men are facing off at the center of the room, the audience forming a circle around their makeshift fighting ring.
One of the men is Cass.
The fight commences, and I’ve never watched anything so horrifying in my life. Cass is fast and able to avoid most of his opponent’s blows, but that doesn’t keep my heart from pounding so hard against my ribcage I expect to see it burst through at any second.
I scream as Cass takes a hit to the jaw, then slap my hand over my mouth. Drawing attention to myself is the last thing I want. The people around me jostle and shove one another as they try to get a better view. Someone steps on my foot, and I bite back a small cry.
Within ten minutes, Cass is straddling the other guy on the concrete floor, his hands around his neck.
After a few seconds, the man taps out, and Cass gets to his feet.
The crowd cheers, and several people reach out to slap him on the back.
He doesn’t even smile, just accepts his winnings with a nod and shoves them into his pocket.
Dabbing at the cut on his lip with his T-shirt, he moves toward the door. As he does so, his eyes land on me. Suddenly charging through the crowd, he doesn’t stop until he reaches me. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he hisses, taking my elbow and steering me toward the exit.
“What am I doing here? I should be asking you that.” I try to wrench my arm away, but his grip is too strong. I’m so relieved he’s okay that I could cry, but I’m angry as hell that he put himself in danger like that.
He scoffs and pulls me outside. “I needed to blow off steam.”
I don’t need to ask why.
When we reach his bike, he hands me his helmet. “Put this on.”
“I brought my car,” I say, jutting a thumb over my shoulder toward the shed where I parked.
“And we’ll get it tomorrow.” He thrusts the helmet at me once more. “You’re riding back with me.”
Moving away from him, I open my mouth to protest again, but before I can say anything, a beefy guy bumps into me and nearly knocks me over. He gives me a lecherous grin and grabs my shirt, tugging me toward him.
I scream involuntarily, but it’s unnecessary, because one minute the man’s stale breath is making me gag, and the next Cass’s fist is connecting with his nose, sending him staggering backward.
“Keep your filthy hands off her, you son of a bitch.” He gives the man a murderous look, then turns to me. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” My voice trembles with adrenaline.
“Get on the bike, Vivvy,” Cass snarls, eyes still locked on the guy behind me. “Now.”
I flare my nostrils and cross my arms over my chest. “I can get home by myself.” I’ll find my way back to my Range Rover, even if the thought of what lurks out there is making my insides seize up.
“If you think for one second that I’m leaving you here, you’ve lost your bloody mind. Now get on the bike before I put you there myself,” Cass says.
I know a losing battle when I see one. Glaring at him, I yank the helmet onto my head and swing my leg over the motorcycle.
I’m determined not to touch him, and instead grab my seat with both hands.
That lasts until Cass peels out of the car park and I lurch backward, nearly falling off.
Reluctantly, I wrap my arms around his waist.
We don’t talk on the entire ride home, but the second he parks in front of the house, I hop off and stalk to the front door.
“We’re not done talking about why you were there,” he calls right before I shove my key in the lock.
I spin around. “During that conversation, we can discuss why you were there and putting your life in danger.”
“My life wasn’t in danger,” he says with a scoff.
“Really?” I march back down the steps and across the gravel. “That guy could’ve killed you.”
Cass leans down, his dark eyes glowing with anger.
“Which one? Because I had both handled. But if I hadn’t seen you at the last minute, do you know what could’ve happened to you tonight?
What were you thinking, sneaking in there like that?
” He takes a gasping breath and shoves both hands into his hair.
“Women get raped on that side of town all the time, Viv. I couldn’t have lived with myself if—” His voice breaks, and he turns away.
My walls crumble into a heap as I watch him fight to regain control of himself. I’ve rarely seen Cass lose it, but he looks like he’s about to.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t realize.”
He seems to snap out of it and looks down at me. “Don’t ever do that again. And the next time I tell you to get on the bike, you do it right away. I can take one guy, maybe two if they’re slower than me, but if a gang had tried to take you? Fuck, I—”
“Hey.” I place a hand on his arm. “I’m fine.”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “I will die before I let anyone hurt you.”
Pain ricochets through my chest, bouncing off memories and making them bleed. “Is that true?”
“You know it is,” he whispers.
“Funny,” I say, taking a shaky breath, “when you’re what hurts me every single day.”
“Viv—”
“Good night, Cassian.” I turn and head back inside, not letting him stop me this time.
Some wounds can’t be healed.