37. Cassian
Cassian
I’m panting as I stare at Vivienne. Her wet hair is plastered against her face, which has grown pale in the moonlight. Brows drawn together, she glares at me with as much venom as she can muster, but it isn’t much, because she’s one of the sweetest people on the planet.
“I’m sick and tired of people deciding what’s best for me,” she spits out.
I scuff my shoe against the damp flagstones. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry but unwilling to change anything.”
“What do you want me to say, Viv? That you should break off your engagement to be with me?” My laugh falls flat, and I shove my fingers through my hair. “It would destroy your family.”
“My family would be fine,” she says through her teeth.
“Maybe.” I flex my shoulder blades. “But you wouldn’t. And I can’t live with that.”
She shakes her head, her jaw set hard as steel. “So that’s it then? You don’t care what I want—you’re just going to act like every other domineering person in my life and make my decisions for me?”
“It’s not like that, Vivvy.”
“Isn’t it? You’re no better than my father!”
The insult stings, which is precisely what she wanted, so I brush it aside. The only thing Lord Wilson and I have in common is our love for the woman standing in front of me, and mine far surpasses his. “Then why don’t you explain to me how this would work?” I gesture between us. “You and me.”
“What is there to explain?”
I cross my arms and move closer to her, because so help me god, I couldn’t stay away if my life depended on it. “How would you tell your parents? How the hell would you tell Bash?”
She shrugs as if the question is of no consequence, but I see the wavering in her eyes.
She doesn’t want to think about this, because she wants to assume her family would be happy for her regardless of who she’s with.
But she doesn’t see them the way I do. They want Viv to be happy as long as her choices fall within the bounds of what they consider acceptable. “I’d figure it out.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” I whisper, resting my lips against her forehead. “And it would kill you. You know I’m right.”
She sucks in a deep breath. “I’d be fine.”
I close my eyes as I breathe in her vanilla scent, mingled with the smell of fresh rain and damp earth. Keeping my arms folded because I don’t trust myself, I press a kiss to her temple. “I don’t want you to be fine. I want you to be happy.”
“And since you don’t trust me to make that decision for myself, I guess we’ve said all there is to say.” She moves past me and heads for the door.
“Vivienne, wait,” I say, following her inside. I can’t let her leave yet, not when I’m the reason she’s sad. If anyone else hurt her, he’d be using a feeding tube for the next month.
“What is it, Cass? I’m tired, and I want to go to bed.”
“There’s something I want to show you,” I say. “After we’re both dry.”
With a sigh, she disappears deeper into the house, and I know there’s a chance she won’t come back, that she’ll choose to stay upstairs and lick her wounds in private.
But in case she doesn’t, I have to try. I move to the hall bathroom, strip off my wet hoodie, and towel dry my hair.
My track pants are barely damp, so I don’t bother changing out of them.
I’m tossing my sweatshirt on a hook when Viv reenters the kitchen.
“Okay, Cass. What’s this about?” She’s wearing a crewneck she stole from my room, and I hope she doesn’t wash it before returning it.
Of course, she’ll probably never give it back, which I’m also okay with.
Because fuck me, there’s something about her wearing my clothes that makes her feel like mine even though that’s the last thing she’ll ever be.
A grim satisfaction fills me thinking about her closet after she’s married being filled with my clothes.
“We have to go to the library.” Taking her hand, I interlace our fingers. It’s not much, but if the same pulse of electricity travels up her arm that does up mine, it’s worth it.
While Viv flicks on the lamps, I stoke the fire to get a blaze going again. We both settle on the sofa, and I open my laptop. “I saw something a few weeks ago,” I say, searching for the image. When I find it, I turn the computer toward her.
She shifts closer, and a whiff of her perfume punches me in the gut. “Who is that?” she asks, eyes narrowed as she stares at the photo of the city’s new mayor and his family.
“That’s my mum.”
She swivels her face toward me and slumps back against the cushion as if the air’s been knocked out of her sails. “You found your mum?”
Nodding, I focus on the screen again, because I don’t want to see the pity in her eyes. “It was an accident.” I tell her about seeing the picture on the news. I don’t tell her about the spiral I fell into afterward.
“Is this why you’ve been so withdrawn lately?” she asks in a hushed tone.
I scratch the back of my neck. “Probably.” And because I can’t stomach the thought of you marrying anyone but me.
“Why haven’t you tried looking for her before?”
I let my head rest against the back of the sofa. “Because I didn’t want to know.”
Viv’s quiet for a while, because unlike a lot of people, she understands that not all silences need to be filled. The fire cracks and pops as sparks flare up and die. Finally, she curls herself against me and lays her head on my shoulder, tucking her hands around my bicep.
We sit like that for a long time, neither of us moving. I could stay here for the rest of my life and die a happy man. It may not be everything I want, but it’s sure as hell more than I deserve.
“Are you going to contact her?” Viv’s voice purrs through my subconscious, but she doesn’t stir from her position.
“No chance in hell,” I say, shaking off the haze of near-sleep.
“Why not?” Her fingers find the hem of my sleeve and run back and forth along it, causing goosebumps to break out across the entire length of my arm.
“She has another family, Viv. She evidently didn’t want the first one.”
“You don’t know the situation.”
“My dad told me. She took off, traded me for a divorce.”
Several beats pass, and I know she’s feeling sorry for the poor little boy whose own mother didn’t want him. “That’s awful,” she breathes out.
I lift my chin, wishing I could see her face right now, because that didn’t sound like pity. It sounded like anger. I move my hand to rest on her leg, bare beneath the tiny skirt she’s wearing. “Yeah.”
“What about the girl in the photo? Is she your sister?”
“Half-sister.”
“What’s her name?”
“Juliette.”
“Have you looked her up?”
“No.”
Viv shifts, craning her head to look at me. “Why not? Aren’t you dying of curiosity?”
I frown down at her. “Not exactly.”
She moves into an upright position, and I want to pull her back down, to stay curled up like this for eternity, not talk about people that have nothing to do with me or my life.
“Come on, Cass. She’s your family.”
I sit up and shake my head. “She is not my family.”
“You literally share a mother with this girl. How is that not family?”
“She can have our mother. I don’t want her.”
“Cass.” At Viv’s incredulous tone, I look at her. She’s staring at me in a way that says I’m about to be lectured.
“If you want to know about her so badly, look her up yourself.” I plop my computer onto her lap and sit back with crossed arms. I’m not going to stop her, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to participate.
Viv gets to work, her fingers clacking on the keys as she searches for information on Juliette. I keep my lids lowered as I watch her, amused that she’s taking this so seriously and also a little nervous about what she might find.
“I know you’re watching me,” she says. “So sit up and look at this.”
I press my lips together but do as she says. I don’t waste the opportunity to prop my arm on the other side of her, leaning in close enough that my chest brushes against her back. Her sharp inhale is quiet, but I catch it and file it away to savor later.
On the screen is the program of events for the upcoming production of Giselle. Viv points to the list of cast members, and about halfway down the page is Juliette’s name, under “The Wilis,” whatever the heck that is.
“Okay, and?” I say, sitting back and resisting the urge to stay in Viv’s aura.
“She’s a ballerina.”
I let out a sharp laugh. “So? You just witnessed my dancing skills. We obviously didn’t inherit the same genes.”
Viv closes the laptop and sits cross-legged on the couch, facing me. “What is your problem?”
“I don’t have a problem. But forgive me for not wanting to chase after people who don’t want anything to do with me.”
“You don’t know that.”
I narrow my eyes and give her my best you’ve got to be kidding me look.
“She may not even know you exist,” Viv says. “Her parents could have kept this from her the way yours did from you.”
“And how do you think they’re going to respond if I suddenly show up and announce that I’m her brother?”
She gives me a bland look. “Only one way to find out.”
“Not going to happen.”
“Why do you always believe the worst about people?”
I shrink back in surprise. “What are you talking about?”
“You think I’ll resent you some day. You think my family won’t accept you. You think your mother hates you, and now you’re positive your half-sister would rather not meet you. You’re writing a narrative for everyone without giving them a chance to speak for themselves.”
I push off from the sofa and grab the fireplace poker. Jabbing at the logs, I say, “If I needed a therapist, Viv, I’d go see one.”
“Well, maybe you should.”
I scowl at her over my shoulder, then turn back to the flames. “Let it go.”
“And if I don’t?”
Tossing the poker to the side, I straighten. “I’m asking you to forget about it. They don’t want anything to do with me, trust me.”
Viv gets to her feet, but she doesn’t come closer. I can’t decide if I’m glad she’s keeping her distance or not. My emotions are running rampant right now. I don’t know what I’d do if she was within arm’s reach.
“You can’t know that until you try,” she says.
“Easy to say when you haven’t faced rejection all your life.”
Her eyes pull down at the corners. “You don’t need it all your life to know how it feels.”
Her words hit their mark in the center of my chest. “Vivvy—”
“What are you guys doing in here?” We both turn to see Bash in the doorway, arms crossed and scowling.
“Nothing,” Viv says, pushing past him and out the door.
He looks at me, waiting for an answer that’ll give him a reason to hit me. I can practically see his fists twitching from here.
Exhaustion hits me like a freight train. “Nothing. We were just talking.”
“It’s three in the morning,” Bash says. “It could’ve waited.”
“I know. We lost track of time.” I don’t know why I’m defending myself to him when we didn’t do anything wrong. Maybe because I know that under different circumstances, that wouldn’t have been the case.
“Don’t let it happen again.” He gives me a hard look before turning to the door. “She’s getting married, Cass. Stay away from her.”
I’m trying, mate. I’m trying.