Chapter 33 Stefan
STEFAN
I lied about having work.
The truth is, I can’t leave her. Even when she doesn’t want me around, even when every word between us is sharp enough to draw blood and leave scars, I can’t bring myself to drive away.
So I circle the block. Once. Twice. Three times.
On the fourth pass, I park across the street from the brownstone, far enough that Olivia won’t spot me if she happens to glance out a window, but still close enough that I can see the house and all the front entryways.
The lights are on downstairs. I can make out shadows moving behind the curtains. Olivia and her father, probably having the kind of polite, stilted conversation that passes for intimacy in the Aster household.
I pull out my journal and a pen from the center console. The blank page stares back at me.
When did I start doing this? Writing down my thoughts like some lovesick teenager with a diary?
It started after the night at the club, after Mikayla’s failed seduction. Babushka sat me down with honey cake and told me I was becoming my father. I’d gone upstairs to my old room in her house and found myself reaching for a pen.
The words had come slowly at first. Halting. Uncomfortable.
I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.
That was the first entry. As simple as it was true.
Since then, I’ve been writing more. Not every day. Not even every week. But when my head gets too full, when the thoughts start circling like vultures, I write them down.
It helps. Sort of.
I start scribbling.
She won’t look at me. Won’t talk to me. And I deserve it.
I called her family social climbers. Told her they were beneath me. I wanted to hurt her. The fucked-up part is, I didn’t even mean it. I was just angry and lashing out because I didn’t know what else to do.
Now, she’s in there with her father, almost certainly telling him what an asshole I am. And she’d be right.
The tip of my pen hovers.
I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t know if I can.
But I have to try. Because losing her—
I stop and scratch out the start of that last bit. Some things are too dangerous to write down. Even when it’s for my eyes only.
A sharp tap on the window makes me jump.
I look up.
Margaret Aster stands beside my car, perfectly coiffed even at this hour, wearing a cream cashmere sweater and pearls. Her smile is bright. Predatory.
Fuck.
I lower the window.
“Why, Stefan!” she crows. “What are you doing parked outside my house?”
“Just waiting on Olivia. She’s visiting with her dad.”
“And she didn’t ask you to join her?” Margaret’s eyebrows lift in exaggerated shock. “Really, sometimes that girl has no manners. I did raise her better than that.”
I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek. The urge to tell her exactly what I think of her parenting skills is almost overwhelming.
“It’s fine,” I say. “She needed some time with her father.”
“Nonsense. You shouldn’t be sitting out here in the cold.” She gestures toward the house. “Come inside. I insist.”
I consider refusing. I could make up some excuse, tell her I have calls to make, work to do, literally anything that would get me out of this.
But Olivia is in there. And if I leave now, if I refuse her mother’s invitation, it’ll only make things worse.
So I tuck my journal back out of sight and get out of the car.
Margaret links her arm through mine like we’re old friends. “I’m so glad you’re here. We have so much to discuss.”
She leads me up the steps and through the front door. Every surface gleams, tacky with polish. Every piece of furniture looks like it belongs in a museum. There’s no warmth here. No life.
Margaret calls out as we enter. “Olivia, darling! Look who I found lurking outside.”
I hear movement from the back of the house. Footsteps.
Then Olivia appears in the doorway to the kitchen.
Her eyes widen when she sees me. Her mouth opens, then closes. She looks pale and tired. There are shadows under her eyes that weren’t there this morning.
Margaret releases my arm and turns to her daughter. “Really, Olivia. Leaving Stefan outside in his car like that. What were you thinking?”
“I didn’t—” Olivia starts, then stops.
She glances at me. I can see the question in her eyes. Why are you here? Why didn’t you leave?
I give a slight shrug and say nothing.
“I’m sorry, Mother,” Olivia says finally. “I should have invited him in.”
“Yes, you should have.” Margaret plucks a hair off her sweater. “Well, you’re here now, Stefan. That’s what matters.”
Olivia’s father appears behind her. He nods at me. “Stefan.”
“Mr. Aster.”
“Please, call me Richard.”
Margaret claps her hands together. “This is perfect. You’ll both stay for a late dinner. I insist.”
“That’s not necessary,” Olivia says quickly. “We should really—”
“I won’t hear of it. You’re here. Stefan’s here. We should all eat together like a family.”
Olivia’s jaw tightens. “Mother—”
“It’s settled.” Margaret turns to Richard. “Darling, would you help me in the kitchen?”
Richard hesitates, then nods. “Of course.”
They disappear through the doorway, leaving Olivia and me alone in the living room.
Olivia crosses her arms over her chest. She won’t look at me directly, but I can see her struggling with something. Anger, embarrassment, or both, I’m sure.
“I’m sorry about this,” she says finally. “I know you don’t want to be here.”
“That’s not true,” I reply. “If it helps you to have me here, I’m happy to do it.”
“Even though you want nothing to do with my family of social climbers?”
I cringe, but I deserve that. I step closer. Not too close, just enough that she has to tilt her head back to meet my eyes.
“They may be that way,” I say quietly. “But you’re not. And I’m here for you. Not for them.”
Her throat works as she swallows. “I can’t just forget what you said, Stefan.”
“I don’t expect you to.” I hold her gaze. “But we can put that aside, get through tonight, and pick it up tomorrow.”
She studies my face like she’s searching for something. Proof that I mean it, maybe. Or proof that I don’t.
“Okay,” she says finally. “We can do that.”
The tension in my chest eases slightly. It’s not forgiveness. It’s not even close. But it’s something.
It’s enough.