Page 31 of The Consequence of You (Heathley Academy #2)

CHAPTER THIRTY

CALLIE

I throw another sweater on the bed. Nothing looks right. This is the third one I’ve tried with these jeans. I’m at the nursing home today, and I never normally spend this long getting ready.

It’s because Asher will be there .

I tell myself he’s nothing to do with it, but of course he is.

For some unfathomable reason, I want him to look at me with those same hungry eyes he’s been looking at me with for the last few weeks.

I want him to want me. I have never dressed for anyone but me, and I kid myself that looking good is for my confidence and not for him, but it’s simply not true.

I crave his approval; I crave the way his eyes wander over me. He worships my body in a way that makes me feel like I’m the centre of his world, and despite knowing I’m nothing more than a notch on his bedpost; I can’t get enough of it.

Yanking a fourth sweater out of my wardrobe, I hold it in front of me.

This one is cut a little lower, exposing my throat and drawing the eye down to my upper chest, but it’s still work appropriate.

Tugging it on, I smooth down my hair, before running a clear gloss over my lips, and spritzing on my favourite perfume.

Since Carlo was relieved of his duties, Luca has been insisting Rossi drives me to the nursing home so I call out to let him know I’m ready. He grabs his keys, and we head to the basement garage.

We take his black Mercedes SUV. It’s large and functional and is the most secure of our vehicles. Before we leave, he checks his weapon and the one on his ankle.

“Any reason for the extra precautions, Rossi?” I ask as we drive to the nursing home. He only hesitates for a second before he answers, but it’s enough to plant a seed of worry.

“Nothing for you to concern yourself with, Miss Callie. Just upping the security over the next few months while your brother settles back in. The new routines can unsettle other families, make them a little… nervous that changes are afoot. We’re always extra vigilant around those times.”

Digesting his words, I stare at the side of Rossi’s face.

I don’t believe he’s lying, but I don’t believe he’s telling me the whole truth either.

Rossi would take a bullet for me. Of that, I’m 100% sure.

But his loyalty is, and will always be, with my father.

If he’s asked Rossi to downplay a threat, he’ll follow Papa’s orders.

Rossi drops me at the nursing home and all thoughts of my physical safety are gone as I see the familiar form of Asher signing in. If anyone is a danger to me, it’s this man. He’s threatening my emotional safety, and that’s something that’s harder to protect.

I sidle up next to him. This is the first time I’ve seen him since we were outside my father’s restaurant last week.

I spent plenty of time thinking about what we said to each other.

About him telling me I need to let go more, to worry less, but I will never not worry about that.

And he won't ever change his ways, so there’s no point dwelling on it.

We both need to accept each other for who we are, accept this situation for what it is.

Two people who find each other physically attractive, two people who fuck and have fun, and that’s all.

He passes the pen and silently looks me up and down as I sign in.

“Nice outfit. Hugs your tits perfectly.”

Instead of being outraged at his inappropriate greeting, I secretly preen and thank the lord I chose this one.

Jesus, I may as well be trampling all over the last fifty years of feminism.

He fixes me with a classic Asher smouldering look, which has my panties dampening in an instant.

He follows it up by smiling smugly, like he knows exactly what that look does to me.

He licks his lips as I imagine his mouth on my most sensitive parts, and my cheeks involuntarily heat. He shakes his head and tuts.

“Calliope. There’s a time and place for those kinds of thoughts, and this isn’t it.” He’s right, and shame courses through my veins at the inappropriateness of where I’d let my mind wander.

I follow him to the staff room whilst we put our things away.

We check the rota on the wall and see we’re both scheduled for time in the sitting room.

There’s a board game session and hobby time.

I lead the way, and Asher follows behind.

Deliberately adding a little sway to my walk, I get a rush of satisfaction when I hear him groan behind me.

I don’t need to turn around to know he’s staring at my arse right now.

Hypocrite.

As we enter the large, bright sitting room, Mr Charles spots Asher, and his face lights up.

He has the chess set ready to go. Looking around the room to see where I might be needed, I notice Mrs Hughes is trying to get my attention, so I head over to her.

She’s sitting in her wheelchair in the bay window.

She pats the seat next to her, indicating that I sit down.

Mrs Hughes lost her hearing a few years ago.

I’ve been learning a few simple signs to communicate better with her.

I sign asking her how she’d like to spend the session, and she points to the box of art supplies in the corner.

Nodding in understanding, I wheel the box over and unpack some paper and pastels onto one of the console tables, adjusting the height so she can reach.

For the next few minutes, I watch her work, losing herself in the hobby she loves so much.

She’s talented, and before long, I can make out the outline of a one-storey home near a beach.

I tap her arm and sign again, asking if this is somewhere special to her.

She smiles wistfully and signs back that it’s somewhere she once holidayed on the Amalfi coast. It’s not somewhere I’ve ever visited, but it looks like a beautiful place.

Mrs Hughes slides over a sheet of thick paper to me and I thank her.

I reach for a box of charcoal, my favourite medium to draw in.

Art has been my escape for a long time, but I rarely draw anymore.

My biggest fan was my mother, and without her to share my work with, I’d indulged myself less and less over the years.

Inhaling slowly, my fingers stroke the dark graphite, loving the smooth feel under my fingertips.

I’d forgotten the peace drawing brings me.

Slowly, I make my first mark on the paper, allowing myself a few moments to get a feel for the density and depth of the black sooty strokes. The sticks feel almost like an extension of my hand as muscle memory takes over. We sit silently together, each lost in our memories.

The morning passes quickly, and I only look up when a shadow falls across our paper.

I don’t need to look up to know it’s Asher.

My body seems to react to him before my mind lately.

My immediate instinct is to cover up my drawing, but I have nothing to do that with and I don’t want to risk smudging it, so I yank the piece of paper away, turning it so Asher can’t see the subject.

Except I should have known it was too late.

“She was very beautiful.”

“She was,” I confirm quietly.

“I assume it’s your mother? You have her eyes.” With the lack of colour, all that the image I’d drawn represented was the shape, and yes, mine and hers were the same. I nod.

“I had no idea you were so talented, Calliope.” I blush at his words. I shouldn’t need his approval or care if he thinks I’m talented, but for some reason I like hearing him compliment me. Mrs Hughes nudges me and signs,

“Will you introduce me to the new volunteer?” Nodding, I sign back Asher’s name, telling her he also attends Heathley University.

“He’s the local royal?” she asks. Guess she reads gossip magazines like the rest of the planet then. Smiling, I confirm he’s who she thinks he is .

“He’s very handsome.” I smile again and shake my head.

“You don’t think I’m handsome, Calliope?”

He cocks his head, mirth sparkling in his green eyes. Of course he can read British Sign Language. Is there no end to this man’s talents?

“Don’t lie to me, Calliope. I know you always tell the truth, so be careful with your next words.” He has me trapped, and he knows it.

Mrs Hughes is watching us with interest, and I feel bad for excluding her from the conversation.

“You like this boy?” she signs, clearly no idea he can read BSL.

“Answer her question, Calliope,” Asher taunts, clearly finding this more than a little amusing.

As I toy with telling her we’re friends, I realise it would be a lie.

Asher and I are not friends. That’s something we’ll never be.

Luckily, I don’t have to answer her, as the tension is broken by Susan calling into the room to tell us lunch is ready. Saved by the bell, quite literally.