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When morning came around, he was none the wiser as to how many glasses since the pain was still there, eating away at him like rust in iron, and he was on the point of getting another bottle when the door of the study opened, and Cesare walked in.
Aristophanes, slumped in an armchair, scowled at him. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he demanded gracelessly.
‘Apparently you’re worrying people,’ Cesare said, throwing himself into the armchair opposite, stretching his legs out and folding his hands comfortably on his flat stomach. ‘People who shall remain nameless.’
Aristophanes didn’t stop scowling. ‘You’re interrupting my drinking.’
‘You do know you’re expecting twins, right?’
‘They are better off without me.’ He lifted the bottle of Scotch and poured the last remaining drops into his tumbler.
Cesare lifted a dark brow. ‘And who decided that?’
‘I did.’
‘So, you’re already deciding things for your children.’ He nodded. ‘Spoken like a true father.’
Aristophanes, who’d never found his friend more irritating and his presence more pointless than he did right now, changed his scowl to a glare. ‘You are mocking me.’
‘You deserve to be mocked,’ Cesare said unrepentantly. ‘You’re going to have twins and here you are, sitting in your study drinking and brooding like an eighteen-year-old. All the while, your lovely Nell is very upset and I’m not sure it’s wise to leave her like that in her condition.’
His lovely Nell. Beautiful, wonderful Nell.
The pain reached epic proportions, but he shoved it away, and studied his glass of Scotch instead. It was distressingly almost empty. ‘I am sparing her,’ he said.
‘And what exactly are you sparing her?’
‘The pain of being with me.’ He tossed back what little Scotch there was in the glass. ‘You don’t understand.’
Cesare shook his head. ‘Of course, I don’t understand. Me, who had no idea what to do with a surprise daughter and a woman who turned me inside out. Me, who now has the world’s most wonderful wife and child, and who is now blissfully happy. No, I definitely don’t understand anything about that.’
‘It is not the same,’ Aristophanes growled. ‘You are able to love—’
‘Everyone can love, you idiot,’ Cesare growled right back. ‘Unless you’re a sociopath and I’m pretty certain you’re not one of those. Also, I think you’re already in love with her. The choice is whether you accept it or keep on being your usual grumpy self. Scheduling lovers when you have the time and scheduling father moments along with them. I’m sure you’ll be happy doing that.’
Aristophanes gritted his teeth and stared at his friend. ‘I amnotin love with her.’
‘Then why are you drinking?’ Cesare’s blue stare was uncompromising. ‘Why did you send her away? And why are you looking at me as if you want to kill me?’
‘Because you’re annoying,’ he said, meeting Cesare stare for stare. ‘Make yourself useful and get me another bottle of Scotch.’
‘No,’ Cesare said tersely. ‘Do you remember what you said to me when I was agonising about being enough for Lark?’
Aristophanes shifted in his chair, not wanting to think about it. ‘I do not.’
‘You said, and I quote, “You have a beautiful daughter and a lovely wife. Be a shame to throw all that away because you’re not brave enough to man up.”’
‘It’s not the same,’ he began roughly. ‘It’s different—’
‘It’s not different,’ Cesare interrupted. ‘You were right. I did have to man up. And so do you. You say you can’t love, but that’s just an excuse. You’re as capable of it as any man, but you’re afraid. Because love is vulnerability. Love is pain. Love is wondering if you’re ever going to be enough for someone but choosing to try anyway, because they’re worth it. Because love is worth it.’
His chest ached, agony echoing inside him. Was his friend right? Was that pain love? Was that why his life, which had kept him content for so long, suddenly seemed bleak and worthless? Had it always been like that and he just hadn’t seen it? And if so, why did he only see it now?
But, of course, he knew the answer to that, didn’t he?
You are afraid.
The thought wound through his brain and his instinct was to shove it away, but now the words had been said, it was all he could think about. He’d told Nell he was broken, that love was impossible for him, but if that was true then why did he hurt so much? Why did he want to punch Cesare in the face for telling him he was afraid?