Page 12

Calisto

After Asher’s attempt at interrogation, the speed at which my family descended upon the house came as something of a relief. For the first ten minutes, anyway. Once we’d passed that point and I’d remembered how incredibly nosey they could be, and what few manners they had for someone else’s abode, I had cause to rethink that stance and possibly would have settled for the interrogation instead.

It wasn’t like Asher could force me to talk about Edmund. No one could. I wanted to see that file, though, and I intended to ask Asher for a copy. If he didn’t want me insisting on seeing it, then he shouldn’t have mentioned it. And if he wouldn’t show it to me, I’d ask Cade.

“There’s no food in this house,” Lola said, her arms crossed over her chest. She narrowed her eyes at Asher. “Don’t you eat?”

“Lola!” I chided before Asher could respond. My sister’s bluntness, especially concerning her stomach, was familiar to me, but not to others. I might have had similar thoughts myself, but at least I’d phrased it better. “That’s rude. How would you like it if someone came to your house and within five minutes of arriving questioned what you had in your kitchen?”

She shrugged. “At least they’d find something to question me about.”

“We can order some food,” Asher said calmly. Since my family had invaded, he’d taken up a permanent stance in the corner of the living room. I suspected that the wall behind him reassured him he couldn’t be approached from at least one angle.

It didn’t take a genius to work out that he wasn’t used to being around so many people at one time, and certainly not people like my family. Despite that, he seemed determined to address any problems that arose. “I’ll find somewhere that can deliver within a few hours. Just write me a list of what you need and I’ll see to it.”

“I’ll cook,” my mother offered immediately, her eyes having lit up when she saw Asher’s kitchen. “We can have paella. Or tortilla de patatas. Neither of those takes long to cook.” She kept sneaking glances at Asher, but so far she had asked none of the questions about him I knew were coming. I just prayed she’d be uncharacteristically patient and wait until we were alone.

Henry wandered into the room, Lola gaping at the fact that her husband was stuffing his face with a chocolate bar. “Where did you get that from?”

“There’s a whole cupboard full of them,” he said with a wink. “You’ve just got to know where to look. They were hidden behind bottles of water, but I’m more persistent than that and kept digging.” He took a large bite, looking thoughtful while he chewed. “I’d have made a great pirate,” he mused aloud. “Always first to the treasure.”

“Show me,” Lola demanded.

“Lola, you can’t just…” She completely ignored me, following her husband without looking back. “I’m sorry,” I said to Asher for at least the eighth time in the past hour. I’d apologized when Margarita had made a loud comment about the décor not being very homely. I’d apologized when Felipe had made himself a little too at home while testing the comfiness of the sofa and put his feet on the table. He hadn’t been wearing shoes, Asher somehow implementing his no shoes rule even while everything turned to chaos around him, but it was still poor form to put your feet on someone else’s table only minutes after meeting them.

I’d apologized when my grandparents had tried to move into Asher’s room instead of the one allocated to them. They’d claimed that the house was so big they’d simply gotten turned around in it, and it had nothing to do with the bed being bigger, but the glint in my grandfather’s eye had told that for the lie it was. I’d apologized when Margarita had found herself a bottle of wine and immediately poured herself a glass and then complained about it being too dry for her taste and handed it over to her husband who in her words “will drink anything, no matter how shit it tastes.”

In short, I’d done nothing else for the past hour but apologize. And every single time, Asher had told me in that serene manner of his he had down to a T, that it was absolutely fine.

A crash sounded down the hall and I immediately swore and moved to investigate, Asher grabbing my arm and hauling me back before I could.

“Whatever it is,” he said, “it’s nothing I can’t replace. I don’t have Ming vases or Faberge eggs or anything like that.”

“Are you sure?” He still had hold of my arm, a strange tingle radiating from the point where his fingers touched, the same as it had earlier when he’d grabbed hold of my hand. And just like then, I couldn’t decide whether it was a pleasant sensation I craved to feel more of, or something unpleasant I never wanted to experience again. It was interesting, though, given how adamant I’d been that no connection existed between us. It wasn’t a burning conviction we belonged together for the rest of our lives, but it was something.

“I’m positive,” he said. “And you need to stop apologizing on their behalf.”

“Well, they won’t apologize. They never do.”

“They’re harmless.” Something akin to amusement sparked in his pale blue eyes. “You warned me they would be a lot to handle, and they are. But I can handle it. The only thing concerning me at the moment is seeing how stressed it’s making you.”

Which was such a sweet sentiment that it left me momentarily speechless. Luckily, the doorbell rang again. I frowned. “Everyone’s here. I don’t know who—”

“Asher, sweetheart,” Lola said, appearing in the doorway and winding a strand of dark hair around her finger in a flirtatious fashion. “Could you get that? We ordered a couple of pizzas just to put us on until we can get some food.”

“‘Sweetheart,’” I mouthed at my sister from a position safely out of Asher’s eyeline. “What the fuck?”

Asher smiled. “Of course.”

I waited until he’d exited the room to check the security camera before rounding on her. “Jesus, Lola. What is with you? You should have asked if it was okay to order something before you did it. He’s not your butler. And while he might be a PA, he’s not your PA. And what’s with calling him sweetheart? You’re a married woman and your husband is in the next room. What if he’d heard?”

Lola crossed her arms over her chest and stared me down. “Henry wouldn’t care because he’d know I was doing it to see if it bothered you.” She gave a triumphant smile. “And it did bother you, which is all kinds of interesting.”

Despite the heat seeping into my cheeks, I refused to blink or look away. “Only because it was weird.”

“U-huh!” she said, sounding completely unconvinced. “So tell me again why we’re all here?”

“Security cameras,” I said. Even to my own ears, it sounded weak.

“And?”

“And nothing else.”

“You’re a big fat liar, Calisto Manuel Dominguez.”

I narrowed my eyes at my sister. “Don’t middle name me.”

“Why? What are you going to do about it? Are you going to put chewing gum in my hair?”

“That happened once when I was eight.”

“Are you going to push me off the swing?”

“That was an accident.”

“So you’ve always claimed.”

“It was!”

“Are you—?” Lola broke off as Asher came back into the room, swaying under the weight of the biggest pile of pizza boxes I’d ever seen. He looked like he was pulling some sort of circus trick that could go horribly wrong at any second.

“What the—” I was too aware of my mother being close by to actually swear. I hurried over and took the last few boxes off the pile—it wouldn’t make much difference to the weight, but at least Asher would be able to see again—and transferred them to the table. “This is not a couple of pizzas.”

Lola shrugged. “There’s a lot of us. You don’t mind, do you, Asher? You wouldn’t want us to go hungry.”

“It’s fine,” he said as he carefully maneuvered the rest onto the table. “I’m happy for you to make yourself at home.”

“PIZZA’S HERE,” Lola screeched. “COME AND GET IT.”

Knowing what would happen next and that there was very little time before the stampede started, I grabbed Asher’s wrist and tugged him from the room. I didn’t stop until I’d pulled him along the corridor, up the stairs, and into the room I now knew to be his since the awkward standoff when my grandparents had attempted to commandeer it.

“What are you doing?” Asher asked as I closed the door and leaned back against it.

“Rescuing you. You were about to be force fed pizza.”

“I don’t eat pizza.”

A lock of blond hair fell over his forehead and I had the sudden urge to brush it back. “Not even the type that comes without cheese?” The shake of his head came as no surprise. “At the risk of sounding like Lola, what do you eat?”

“I’m not fully vegan, but I hope to get there one day.”

“Right.” I knew I shouldn’t ask, but it slipped out, anyway. “Why?” I quickly added more, hoping it would make me sound less judgmental and more informed about the ways of the world. “I mean, is it to do with animal welfare or the environment?”

“Neither really?” At the raise of my eyebrow, Asher elaborated. “Lots of studies in recent years have shown that a plant-based diet is healthier. Heart disease is the leading cause of death for men in the UK. And what causes heart disease?”

If I’d known there’d be a quiz, I wouldn’t have started this conversation. “I don’t know,” I said honestly. “I grew up eating Spanish food. My mother would have kittens if I turned round one day and said I didn’t want to eat it. I’m not sure I’d survive the encounter.”

Asher smiled at the joke. He had a lovely smile. One that transformed his already model perfect face into something that had the power to make the recipient go weak at the knees. Not me, obviously; I was made of stronger stuff. But most people. “Cholesterol and trans fat in food causes heart disease. Plant-based food has no cholesterol and very little trans fat. Therefore, it can’t contribute to the buildup of plaque in the arteries. I’m not one of those people who thinks everyone should eat as I do. I’d just like to live as long as I can.”

“It’s not because you had a vision of your own heart attack?” As soon as the words left my mouth, I winced. “Sorry, don’t answer that. It’s none of my business.”

“I don’t have visions about myself.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Well, that seems unfair.”

“If you died, could you bring yourself back to life?” Asher asked.

“No.”

His shrug said, “well, there you go, then.”

“You eat chocolate, though?”

Two bright spots of color appeared on Asher’s cheeks, his pale complexion making them more obvious than they might have been on someone else. “I…” And then he stopped and just stared at me.

I studied him, trying to see through Asher’s neutral expression. “Were you about to lie to me?”

“Maybe.”

“And then you decided you didn’t want to?”

“Possibly.”

Well, that was so goddamn sweet that I didn’t know what to do with it. “I’m just interested. I’m not judging you for it. It just… doesn’t fit with the rest. You know, the almost vegan diet, the daily Tai Chi at the crack of dawn, the lack of caffeine…”

“Not a lack,” Asher interjected. “I don’t have it at all.”

“Except…” I drawled. “Chocolate has caffeine in, so that’s not strictly true.”

“White chocolate doesn’t.”

“Henry was eating a Twix,” I pointed out. “That’s not white chocolate.”

The color in his cheeks grew brighter for a moment before he turned away and started straightening the bed. I’d been so focused on him, I’d paid little attention to the room I’d found myself in. The room I’d be sharing with him tonight. That I’d pulled him into like we were a couple and it was my room, too.

It was very Asher, which was to say it was like the rest of the house: designed to look good rather than be comfortable. Margarita’s comment might have been rude, and she definitely should have kept it to herself, but it had been based on valid observations. My guess was he hadn’t furnished it himself. That’s what people with lots of money did. They hired people to wave a magic wand and do it for them. “I don’t know why you liking chocolate is such a big secret.”

“I pride myself on not having any vices,” he said.

I couldn’t stop myself from laughing. “You’re not serious.”

“I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“It’s chocolate. You’re not wrapping a belt around your biceps and injecting heroin. Live a little.”

“You sound like John.”

The words themselves didn’t bother me. What bothered me was the hurt in his voice. He’d rescued me. He’d opened his house to my family, which quite frankly, he deserved a sainthood for at the very least. He’d treated that same family with courtesy and respect, even when they ran rings around him. And how did I thank him for that? I had a dig at him because he had one very inconsequential secret. Me, who was keeping something far more important to myself and had lied to his face when he’d tried to get me to open up about it. “I’m sorry. I won’t mention it again.” I came to stand at the other side of the bed, Asher still smoothing out invisible creases. “Am I forgiven?”

“There’s nothing to forgive.”

I let my gaze drop to the bed. It was a king-size, but suddenly seemed small when I imagined sharing it with Asher later. “What side do you normally sleep on?”

“The left. If that’s a problem, I can—”

“Do not tell me you’ll move if I have a problem with it. It’s your bed. You should tell me that if I have a problem, I can sleep on the floor.”

“No one needs to sleep on the floor.” Finally satisfied with the bedding, Asher straightened. “In case you were wondering, I changed the sheets.”

“Thank you. That’s very kind of you. Everything you’ve done, that you’re doing, is extremely kind. I don’t want you to think I don’t appreciate it.”

The only sign Asher had heard was a slight inclination of his head. “I should…” He jerked a thumb toward the door, heading that way and disappearing through it without bothering to complete the excuse, to leave me standing alone in his bedroom.

“Well, that went well,” I muttered.

“You should be nicer to him.”

I whirled round to find Baxter standing in the doorway of the en-suite bathroom. “How long have you been there?”

“A while.”

“I thought you’d gone.”

“I did, and then I came back.”

“I’m doing my best,” I said defensively. “I don’t know him. How was I supposed to know he’d be so touchy about his secret chocolate habit?”

Starting with the view out of the window, Baxter took himself on a tour of the room, occasionally stopping to peer at things. “He wants to be perfect for you.”

“Don’t! I’m not in the mood to be wound up.”

He tossed a shit-eating grin back over his shoulder. “Who’s winding you up?”

“You’ve done nothing but wind me up for the last couple of days.”

“Maybe.”

“Definitely. It’s like you find this whole thing funny. Not the O’Reilly part, maybe, but everything else. Everything to do with Asher.”

Baxter turned to face me, that same grin on his face. “Ask me what he and Cade talked about in their super secret meeting.”

“I don’t care what they talked about,” I lied.

“Yeah, you do.”

“No! I really don’t. If I cared, I’d ask Asher, and he’d tell me.”

“Of course he would. He’d do anything for you.” Baxter pointed at the bed and waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Anything.”

Heat leached into my face and I found myself unable to look away from it, images flashing into my head of how good his pale skin would look with those dark sheets as a backdrop.

“They talked about you mostly,” Baxter said. “There was some other stuff, but it was boring work stuff so I zoned out, something about getting a quote for some painting work.”

Eager to think about anything but Asher’s bare skin, I gave in. “Go on then. There’s obviously something you’re dying to get off your chest. Spit it out.”

“They talked about feelings,” Baxter said with a toss of his head to add drama. “It was like a Shakespearean tragedy. Asher told Cade what you’d said about feeling no connection, and Cade patted his hand and said, ‘there, there, that he had to give you time, and that he believed everything would work out in the end.’ And do you know what Asher said?”

“No.” And I was pretty sure I didn’t want to know, that Baxter was about to make things ten times worse than they already were.

Baxter pressed a hand to his chest, his fingers splayed over his heart. Did he still have a heart or did being dead mean internal organs were no longer needed? I’d never asked him. “I think it might be the singular most tragic thing I’ve ever heard anyone say.” I curled my fingers into my palms, dug my nails in, and braced myself for Baxter to drop the hammer. “He said… he’d managed alone for thirty-two years, so if your feelings didn’t change, he’d cope with being alone for however many more years he lived.”

A fist gripped hold of my heart and squeezed. “That’s…”

“I’ll tell you what it is,” Baxter said, his eyes glittering. “It’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard. He basically said that it’s you or no one, that if you won’t return his affections, he’d rather die alone. You have to give him a try.”

“’Give him a try?’ Have you heard yourself? He’s a man, not a new brand of toothpaste that’s just come out. You can’t give people a try? That’s called toying with their affections.”

Baxter’s lips curled up into a devilish smile. “I think Asher would be happy to let you toy with anything of his you wanted to.” He let his gaze slide back to the bed, dragging mine with it. “And the two of you are going to be alone here tonight. Naked, and—”

“I don’t sleep naked, and you know that.”

Ignoring me, Baxter carried on. “Naked, and squeezed together.”

“It’s a big bed. We won’t be squeezed together.”

“Alone, naked, squeezed together, and—”

“Stop!” I said, running out of patience. “In case you haven’t noticed, a large proportion of my family is here. If there was ever anything guaranteed to eradicate sexy thoughts from my head, it’s that.”

“All I’m saying is…” Baxter began.

“I don’t know what’s got into you lately,“ I said before he could say more. “It’s less than twenty-fours since I faced potential kidnap, and that threat hasn’t gone away. It’s still there. And all you can talk about is sex.”

“You should be used to that,” Baxter said quietly, looking slightly wounded by my words. “You complain about it enough times.”

I let out a sigh. “Yeah… So maybe it’s my threshold for it that’s decreased.”

“Maybe it’s your threshold for me?”

“Maybe it is.”

“Ouch!”

“You were the one who suggested it.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t have to agree.”

Baxter ran a hand through his hair, the way his dark curls immediately fell back into place in an unnatural way reminding me that while I aged, he remained exactly the same. For him, there was no getting older. There were just endless days stretching ahead of him. Could I honestly say I could handle it if our situations were reversed? I didn’t know. “Maybe it would be better if you weren’t here at the moment,” I said. “It’s going to be almost impossible to talk to you with both my family and Asher around. And it’ll give me one less thing to worry about.”

Baxter’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you telling me to go away?”

“No! I…” Was I? “I’ve just got a lot going on at the moment. O’Reilly. My family. Asher. Everyone seems to want something from me. So I can do without you making things more difficult.”

“Right. I’ll go.” Baxter stood for a moment, as if waiting for me to change my mind. When I didn’t, he nodded and blinked out of existence.