29. Vivienne
Vivienne
The leaves that are starting to fall crunch beneath my boots as I take the path that leads into the forest. When I was little, I used to scamper down this trail and lose myself in the gloomy shadows, gnarly tree trunks, and moss-covered rocks. It felt enchanted back then. Now it just feels lonely.
Things between Cass and me have been more strained than ever. I can’t stop replaying our fight in the stables and wondering what he meant. The only thing I’m sure of anymore is that men are confusing as hell.
I pull out my phone and call Maeve. When she answers after nine rings, she sounds breathless.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Nothing,” she says, still panting. “Just went for a quick jog.”
“You hate running.”
Her laugh is slightly high-pitched. “I’ve decided to pick up a new hobby.”
I snort and narrowly avoid a goopy patch of mud. “You can’t even be bothered to take the stairs. You really expect me to believe you started running?”
“Believe what you want.” Her breathing is finally starting to return to normal. “I’m a woman of diverse tastes.”
“You have the most singular tastes of anyone I’ve ever known. How Pierce puts up with you is—” Realization dawns, and I clamp a hand over my mouth as I gag. “You know what? Never mind. Good luck with your running career.”
She sniffs. “You don’t have to sound so cynical about it.”
“I’m not, trust me,” I say before she can tell me what she was actually doing to raise her heart rate. I already know more about my siblings’ sex lives than anyone should have to. “Do you remember a few years ago, when that asshole boyfriend proposed to you?”
“Preston.” She grinds his name out.
Stepping over a tree branch on the path, I snap my fingers. “That’s the one. Do you also remember when you called me that night, crying into your wine, and I gave you brilliant advice?”
“Hmm,” she says. “It’s not ringing a bell.”
“Shut up. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
“I remember calling you. Definitely don’t recall any brilliant advice, though.”
I roll my eyes. “Yes, you do.”
“Fine.” Her sigh fills the phone. “Let’s say I do.”
“I was wondering if you could return the favor.”
“You’re already engaged. How am I supposed to help?” Maeve says.
“It’s not about that.” Pausing in the middle of the trail, I squeeze my eyes shut. “How did you know Preston wasn’t the right guy?”
There’s a click on the other end like a door shutting. “For starters, he kept a ruler in his nightstand to measure his dick.”
An abrupt laugh heaves from my chest. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
“God, I wish,” she says. “I don’t really know how to explain it, Viv. With Preston, I felt like half a person. I kept certain parts of me hidden that I thought he wouldn’t like.”
“And with Pierce?” I ask softly.
“Pierce saw every single part of me—the parts I showed him and the parts I hid—and he loved me anyway. I didn’t just feel whole with him; I felt like a brand-new person.”
Tears prick the corners of my eyes, and I start walking again. The melancholy scent of decay, mushrooms, and damp earth hangs in the crisp air. I rub the sleeves of my sweater to fight off some of the chill.
“Viv? You still there?” Maeve says.
“I’m here. Just thinking.”
“Let me guess.” I count three beats as she pauses. “Cassian.” His name comes out like a sigh, and hearing someone else say it like that causes my heart to exhale.
“How did you know?” My voice sounds tiny.
“Because I have two eyes in my bloody head,” she says. “Anyone who doesn’t notice the way you look at him is blind.”
Kicking aside a pile of red and orange leaves, I force a mirthless chuckle. “Well, that’s just terrific. I feel a lot better now, thanks.”
“I call it like I see it. That’s why you rang me, isn’t it?”
I swallow back a small sob and gaze up at a group of ravens circling above the trees, their cries loud in the stillness. “Yes.”
“Do you love him?” she asks.
Squeezing my eyes shut again, I pray for forgiveness. “I’m pretty sure if you cut me open, I would bleed him.”
She’s quiet for a moment, which never happens. Finally, she says, “What are you going to do?”
I blow out a long breath. “I don’t know. I’m not marrying Landon because I love him, but—” My voice catches on the pain still lodged in my chest from my argument with Cass.
“But what?” Maeve prompts.
“Cass doesn’t want to be with me, at least not badly enough.”
“He’s a bloody idiot.”
I shrug. “He’s afraid Mum and Dad wouldn’t allow it.”
“They’d each have an aneurysm, but they’d get over it. They always do.”
A squirrel chatters at me from a fork in a tree, and I give it a sad smile. After a few more rounds of scolding, it scampers up one of the limbs and gets lost in the golden leaves.
“Do you think I’m doing the right thing? Marrying Landon?”
My sister sighs again. “I think only you can answer that. You’re smart, Viv. You’ll figure it out.”
I wish I had the same confidence she does.
“You’ll never believe who I saw this morning,” Bash says, resting his arm along the back of Briar’s chair and wrapping her ponytail around his hand. He got a new tattoo recently, a single rose on a thorny stem that disappears beneath the sleeve of his white T-shirt.
The seven of us are eating dinner at Le Fromage, and as I look around the table at the people I love most in the world, I try to memorize this moment. I don’t know how many of them are left.
“It couldn’t have been anyone important, or you would’ve blown up all of our phones immediately,” Sutton says, slurping an oyster from its shell.
“Oh, it was, trust me.” Bash pops a piece of baguette in his mouth and winks at her. “Finn Sinclair.”
Marlowe coughs on her martini, then quickly dabs at her mouth. I shoot my brother a glare, but he’s not looking.
“Hey, man,” Shep says quietly, before darting a glance at Marlowe.
“Shit, Mar. I wasn’t thinking.” Bash reaches out a hand. “I thought you were over all that crap.”
Marlowe tosses her hair over her shoulder and takes another drink. “Oh, I am. Just got something caught in my throat.”
I keep my eyes on her for a few more seconds, but she seems genuinely composed. Shep’s gaze catches mine across the table, and I give him a tiny shrug.
Briar reaches for the cheese plate we’re all sharing. I could swear she’s wearing the exact Burberry sweater I bought Bash last month. “Who’s Finn Sinclair?” she asks, nibbling on a piece of Roquefort.
Three seconds of tension pass as the rest of us exchange glances. Bash clears his throat. “He was a friend of ours. He left Wesbourne after the accident.”
The lack of surprise on Briar’s face tells me she knows what happened three years ago, or at least the version Bash told her. The version he thinks is the truth. Something ugly churns in my gut.
“Where was he all this time?” she asks.
“Harvard,” Shep supplies, lifting his whiskey to his lips.
“And you guys haven’t talked to him since he left?” Briar asks.
“Some of us did.” Cass glances at Shep as he clasps his hands in front of him, his veins growing more pronounced. “He was pretty shaken up about everything that happened, and—” His eyes cut to Marlowe, and whatever he sees makes him decide to drop it.
We were all pretty shaken up, but not all of us had the privilege of skipping town. Someone had to stay behind and pick up the pieces.
“Have you seen him since the photo shoot?” Sutton asks Marlowe as she spreads foie gras on a piece of bread.
Marlowe shakes her head, and I push the lobster salad she ordered closer to her. She’s hardly taken three bites. “You need to eat,” I whisper.
“Wait,” Bash says, frowning. “What do you mean, since the photo shoot? And how come none of you seemed surprised by my news?” He narrows his eyes at Marlowe, Sutton, and me in turn.
“Maybe because we weren’t?” Sutton takes a healthy swig of water, making the ice in her glass shift.
“You knew he was back in town and didn’t say anything?” Leveling his gaze at me, Bash leans back in his chair and crosses his arms.
“Would you also like for me to send you my training schedule for next week?” Sutton asks. “Maybe photos of my breakfast?”
“Fuck off,” Bash mutters.
“Speaking of photos,” Briar says, tossing her hair over her shoulder, “do you guys mind if I shoot some candids?”
Everyone murmurs their consent except Marlowe, who stares at Briar over the rim of her glass. “Are you a reporter?”
Briar laughs nervously. “No?”
“What the fuck, Marlowe?” Bash says, shooting her a glare.
She ignores him and keeps her eyes on Briar. “What if this is a long con, guys? She starts dating Bash to get insider intel on all of us.”
A faint flush stains Briar’s cheeks. “I swear I just want some photos. No one will even see them.”
“That’s what they all say,” Marlowe muses. The paparazzi used to follow her around when she was younger, but they stopped after she slapped multiple photographers with lawsuits. I get where she's coming from, but I also trust Briar.
Standing abruptly, Bash points his finger at her. “Cut it out, Mar.”
She waves her hand as if this entire conversation is boring her. “Fine. Commence.”
Briar gets up and hesitantly starts taking pictures, circling the table to capture different angles. It would be cute if the tension in here weren’t so thick you could cut it with a knife.
“So.” Shep drags out the word as he fiddles with the leather band of his watch. “What are we doing this weekend?”
Sutton launches into a detailed overview of her exhaustive training schedule, which her dad is demanding in preparation for the ITF hard-court tournaments coming up.
I run my tongue along my cheek to keep from grinning as she grows more animated, encouraged by Shep nodding along. My gaze snags on Cassian, and I do a double take when I realize that his dark eyes are already on me. Slowly, he lifts his index finger and runs it along his eyebrow.