46. Cassian
Cassian
The ceiling of my old bedroom greets me when I wake up. There are remnants of glue still on it from when I stuck glow-in-the-dark stars up there. A single lonely one still sits in the corner. I punch my pillow and try to go back to sleep, but images of Viv crying in the stables last night haunt me.
I hate that there’s nothing I can do. There can’t be a worse feeling than having your hands tied while someone you love is in trouble. Sure, I called Bash, but I wish I could fix it myself. Maybe it’s time to accept that that’ll never be my job. Soon it will belong to Landon.
I give my pillow another swift blow, then swing my legs out of bed. If lying here is only going to make me think about her marrying that bastard, I may as well get up.
A shower does little to clear my head. It only makes me think about the night Viv stayed here, when I nearly ran into her wearing nothing but a towel, and how her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
My dad’s already at the stove when I walk into the kitchen, despite the fact that the sun hasn’t even risen yet. I nudge him out of the way and finish up the eggs he’s cooking. He moves to the table with his crutches.
“You’re getting better with those,” I say, sliding a couple pieces of bread into the toaster.
He sits down with a huff. “Three more days, then I’m done with the bloody things.”
I look up in surprise. I’ve lost track of time since being at Belgrave. Should I head back to the city once he’s back on his feet or stick around until the wedding? A lot of that will depend on Viv. If she wants me gone—
“What’re you doing here, Cass?” my dad asks.
I set a steaming cup in front of him. “I decided to mix things up and have breakfast with my pops.”
He laughs loudly. “That’s the line you’re going with?”
“It’s not a line, Dad.” I pour myself some coffee. Since the fancy stuff is all back at the manor, this weak-ass drip crap will have to do.
“My leg is broken, not my brain. I know that Bash is at the house and you’re not. Now, you wanna tell me what’s going on?”
Shaking my head, I flip the eggs. “How do you know that?”
“I heard his car last night. Only one engine in the world sounds like that.”
He’s not wrong. You can hear Bash’s Maserati from three miles away. “Yeah, so?”
Dad takes a loud slurp of coffee. “So why are you spending time with your old man instead of your best friend?”
“I see Bash all the time, Dad. We don’t need to spend every minute together,” I mutter. The toast pops up, and I toss it onto a plate.
“Except you’ve hardly seen each other since you’ve been down here. I would’ve thought you’d be keen to catch up with him.”
“The only thing I’m ‘keen’ on is you minding your own business.” I drop both of our plates onto the table with a clatter.
“You are my business.” He sprinkles his food with a heavy dose of black pepper. “Hot sauce?”
I shoot him an annoyed glare and move to the fridge. After plopping the bottle down in front of him, I sit and scoot in my chair noisily. “I’m twenty-three. That makes me an adult, last time I checked.”
“Well, maybe if you started acting like one, I’d treat you like one.” He douses his eggs in hot sauce until they’re nearly swimming in it.
I toss my fork down and shake my head. “I quit my job to come help you so you wouldn’t lose yours. I helped Viv plan her wedding the way you demanded. I graduated from fucking Cambridge because you insisted I let Lord Wilson pay for my tuition. What more do you want from me?”
Dad continues shoveling food into his mouth at the speed of light. “I want you to tell me the truth. Is there something going on between you and Sebastian?”
Slumping back in my chair, I pick at my thumbnail. Avoiding the subject is pointless. He’s not going to let it go. He never does. “Fine. We got into a fight.” I spread my arms wide. “You happy?”
He finally slows down, his hand pausing halfway to his mouth. “What was the fight about?”
“What does that matter? You wanted to know if there’s something going on, and I told you. The specifics don’t matter.”
“Of course they do.”
“Dad, just let it go. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Well, you obviously need to, or you’re going to bend my silverware out of shape.”
I glance down at the fork I’m clutching and toss it onto the table. “It’s history. Water under the bridge.”
“If that’s true, why are you here and not up there?” he says, mopping up hot sauce with his toast.
“It’s complicated.”
My father shrugs as if we’re talking about repairing a broken fence. “Then uncomplicate it.”
“This isn’t something that can just be fixed, okay? You of all people should know that sometimes relationships are bloody complicated.”
Silence fills the small kitchen as his eyes rise to meet mine. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
Regret finagles its way into my chest. I shouldn’t have said that, and now I can’t take it back. “Just forget it.”
“Are you referring to your mother?”
“It just slipped out.”
There’s another long pause, then he says, “You’re right. Relationships are complicated. But that’s why talking about it can help. It’s certainly better than keeping it all bottled up inside.”
I scratch at the hot sauce label. Small pieces fleck away and land on the table. I clear my throat. “Bash caught Viv and me kissing.”
Slowly, Dad sets his fork down and looks at me, his expression unreadable. I can’t tell if he’s upset, elated by this turn of events, or simply shocked.
“Say something,” I mutter.
“What would you like me to say?”
I cock a brow. “Lack of words isn’t something you typically struggle with.”
“My son doesn’t usually drop bombshells in my lap.” He rests his elbows on the table and steeples his fingers. “I’m assuming Bash wasn’t thrilled about it?”
“Actually, he was ecstatic.” I shove the bottle of sauce across the table, and it crashes into the stack of mail that has lived there my entire life. “What do you think, Dad? He tried to beat the shit out of me.”
My father shakes his head. “That boy always had a problem with his temper.”
“His temper had nothing to do with it,” I say, crossing my arms. “It happened exactly the way I always knew it would.”
“And how’s that?”
“You know how. We’re not like them, no matter which schools I go to or what brand of clothes I buy.”
“That’s never stopped them from being your friends before,” he says.
“There’s a difference between being friends and—” I stop, because I don’t know what Viv and I are.
“Is that your opinion or theirs?”
“What does it matter?” I stack our plates, then stand and move to the sink. If I stay sitting, I’ll break more than a fork. “It’s just the way things are.”
My dad remains seated, but he turns to face me. “Vivienne doesn’t see you like that.”
Letting the sink fill, I dunk the dishes into the hot, soapy water.
“Maybe not yet, but it’s only a matter of time before she does.
” He doesn’t have a clue how Viv sees things.
She’s not the eight-year-old girl whose pigtails he used to tug as he teased her about her freckles—freckles I haven’t seen in ten years because they’re always covered with makeup now.
From behind me, I hear the sound of Dad’s crutches as he gets to his feet and joins me. He grabs a towel from the drawer and begins drying the dishes as I wash them. “Have you talked to her?”
“Yep.”
“And she said she just wants to stay friends?”
Briefly closing my eyes, I take a deep breath. “No.”
“What then?”
“I really don’t want to talk about it.”
“And I say you need to talk about it. If not with me, then with someone.” He puts the plates into the cupboard, then looks at me. “I’m not going to judge you, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”
“It’s not that,” I say quietly. “I just don’t like thinking about it.”
“That bad, huh?”
“She wants to be with me.”
Dad carefully slides out the silverware drawer and puts the forks away, his movements slow as molasses. “That’s great, Cass.”
I dump the skillet into the water, sending suds spraying into the air. “No, it’s not great. It’s a fucking disaster.”
“How is that?” he says. “You’ve been in love with that girl since you could talk.”
“I know.” My voice sounds like sandpaper.
“Then what’s the problem? Because from where I’m standing, it sounds like you got the girl of your dreams.”
“It’s not that easy, Dad.”
He sighs and leans against the counter. “Look, Cassian. I may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but something’s not adding up. You love her, and she wants to be with you. What’s the problem? Is it her brother?”
“That’s part of it. How do you think her parents would react if we told them we were together?”
“They’d get over it,” he says. “Eventually.”
I shake my head. “They wouldn’t. And that would kill Viv. She values their opinion, worthless as it is.”
“Maybe she clings to their opinion because it’s the only thing she’s got. Maybe if you gave her something el—”
“Like what?” Tossing the scrubber into the sink, I turn to look at him. I spread my arms wide, dripping soapy water all over the floor. “What do I have to offer her? I don’t have a private jet or a library wing with my name on it or a vacation home in Italy. I don’t even own a fucking house!”
“Do you really think she values those things more than a life with the man she loves?” His voice sounds quiet in the wake of my outburst.
“I don’t know, Dad.” Shaking my head, I turn back to the sink. “She’s changed a lot, and sometimes I feel like I don’t really know her at all.”
“Someone’s behavior might change, but who they are at their core never does. Vivienne’s still the same girl you’ve always known, even if she’s a little harder to see right now.”
“And what am I supposed to do when she wakes up and realizes I’ll never be able to provide her with the life she wants?”
He stays quiet, but I can feel him watching me.
“What happens when she walks out?” My voice cracks. “It’ll kill me, Dad.”
With a sigh, he tosses the towel onto the counter. “So that’s what this is about.”
I cut him a sharp glance. “What?”
“Son, Vivienne is not your mother,” he says, slowly shaking his head.
“Breaking news from Captain Obvious,” I mutter.
“I don’t need a bunch of letters behind my name to understand that you’re projecting what your mother did onto the woman you care about,” he says. “But they are not the same people, Cass. You have to understand that.”
Biting the inside of my cheek, I hand him the skillet so he can dry it. “I’m sure you never thought Mum would leave you, either.”
He towels off the pan and sets it on the counter. “I was naive when it came to women. Your mother was the first one to make me feel I had something to offer. So I ignored the signs.”
“What signs?”
“Always needing the newest thing in the shops. Making snide comments about people who didn’t wear expensive brands, even her own friends.” He wipes the laminate countertop. “Enthusiastically tearing into my paycheck before even greeting me.”
Irritation at this woman I can hardly remember crawls through me. “I’m sorry, Dad. That’s shitty.”
“It was over twenty years ago. My point is just that your mother and Vivienne couldn’t be more different from each other.”
“I can’t do that to her. She deserves things I can’t give her,” I say. “What kind of man am I if I let her settle? There are plenty of guys who can give her a life I never will.”
“Shouldn’t you let her make that decision?”
Drying my hands, I shake my head. “I can’t take that risk.”