Page 38 of The Consequence of You (Heathley Academy #2)

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CALLIE

L ove makes a person weak. So, I won’t do it. Despite how much I want it. Even though for weeks, months even, every time I’ve closed my eyes, all I’ve been able to see is Asher.

Dahlia warned me, but I didn’t listen.

I thought I was in love with Nico. I recognise it as teenage infatuation now, but the point is, I thought I was in love, and because of that, I made stupid decisions, and now my mother is dead.

I swore back then I’d never allow myself to get that close to a person again. I swore I would never let myself catch feelings, and for a long time, I was sure that would be easy enough.

But last night. When Asher said those words… I felt them, too. Everything he said and more, but it can’t happen .

It just can’t.

Climbing out of bed, I grab my robe from the back of my door. I’ve barely slept. After Asher left, the doctor Rossi called arrived and looked me over. She’d told me to rest, but it was a useless endeavour. I’d ended up tossing and turning for hours.

Every second I’m in here, I’m picturing Asher. Asher lying on my bed. Asher in my bathroom. Asher running me a bath. Asher taking care of me. Between thoughts of him, Mrs Hughes, and Carlo, there is zero chance of getting any peace.

Tugging on a pair of warm socks, I pad downstairs. As I get closer to the kitchen I hear my father’s voice. He must have managed to get a flight over night.

As I walk into the room, the conversation stops.

“Mia cara.” My father rushes over to me and leads me to a chair. “Sedere.” I follow his instructions and sit.

“Papa. I’m fine. I don’t need any fuss.” He turns to Luca and Rossi.

“How has she been?”

Rossi looks away from me and addresses his boss.

“I’ve encouraged her to rest since the attack.

The doctor said she has some bruising and the cut on her neck should heal without an obvious scar.

She’s prescribed her some antibiotics in case of an infection, but she said it’s unlikely.

Dr Cante also left some Arnica which Callie needs to apply twice a day.

It’s the Christmas break, so she can take it easy for a further three weeks without missing any university lectures. ”

“Femare!”

The word stop is out of my mouth before I can help it.

I’ve had enough. I know they care, but I’m right here, and my father could ask me directly if he’s concerned about how I am.

The three men stay silent and stare at me like I’m broken. I let out a slow exhale, knowing I shouldn’t take it out on them. My frustration is not with them. It’s at myself.

“I appreciate your concern, Papa. But I’m fine. Rossi and Luca have taken good care of me.”

“And the boy?”

My breath catches at his question.

“What boy?”

“The duke’s son.”

“He’s not a boy. He’s a grown man. What about him?”

“It sounds as though it was lucky he was there.”

For a second, I thought he somehow knew about my feelings for Asher. Of course, he’s talking about him protecting me yesterday.

“Yes, it was,” I concede.

“He also volunteers at the residential home?”

Nodding, I hope this will be the end of the questioning, and that my father doesn’t ask me anything else about him.

“You are friends?”

“No. We’re not.” It’s the truth. We are… were… fuck. No matter what I tell myself, until late last night, we were so much more than that. My mouth dries.

Crossing the kitchen, I pour myself a coffee. My father takes that as the end of the conversation and moves on to catching up on business with Luca.

Silently, I observe them. They have a closeness with each other I will never have with either of them again. It’s of my own doing, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. I swallow a lump in my throat.

Christmas day comes and goes. The week that follows is quiet.

I finish off some coursework, and I draw.

I get out my old art supplies and I set them up on my desk.

I lose whole days sketching. Pictures of Mama and Luca.

Of Papa. All of them, years younger, when we were still a family.

For every picture I draw of my family, I draw two more of Asher.

It doesn’t take long to fill an entire sketchbook.

Asher smiling, Asher’s lust filled gaze, Asher laughing, playing chess with Mr Charles.

Sketches of Asher which do nothing but remind me of every feeling I’m fighting to ignore.

It’s been over a week since I saw him, and I miss him.

I miss him so damn much. I miss the feel of his heated mouth on mine.

I miss the way he’s able to read me in a way no one else can.

I miss how he would ask me something but never push me to answer him when I deflected with another question.

I miss his ribbing. His teasing. His smug smile when he would catch me checking him out. I miss it all.

Asher Pennington isn’t the man I thought he was. Yes, he’s entitled, cocky and has an ego the size of this house. But he’s also kind, brave and sensitive. He’s attentive and gentle.

Asher is going to make someone a good boyfriend one day. It just won’t be me.

Today is New Years’ eve, and in the early hours of tomorrow morning, it will be four years since the night that Mama was killed. It’s a stark reminder of why I can’t give in to my feelings, no matter how much I want to.

Asher made it seem so simple the last time I saw him.

He talked about living, allowing myself to feel it all.

To be in love. But I can’t. I made a promise to myself in the days that followed Mama’s death that I wouldn’t ever fall in love, or let feelings like lust cloud my decisions, ever again.

That I would always think about the repercussions of my actions.

I was so sure I was doing the right thing.

Except what happened with Carlo has planted the tiniest seed of uncertainty in my mind. He was so close to hurting me. Hurting Asher, and no matter which way I look at it, I don’t think either of us did anything wrong. It goes against everything I believe in.

I flick back through one of my old sketchbooks, and it falls open at a picture of my parents. It’s one I drew just after we moved here, so it’s a little rough, but what’s clear is how happy they were. My actions broke them. Mine, and mine alone.

I close it over and head downstairs to the kitchen to get a glass of water. There’s talking in the kitchen, and I pause outside the door for a few seconds. My father’s voice is clear.

“I know we’ve been over it already, but let’s run through it all again. The night you dismissed Carlo. What were your concerns?”

“We were in the bar, and because he was still in his training period, he was shadowing me. Lord Pennington approached me and drew my attention to the fact Carlo was neglecting his duties. I must hold my hands up. It was an oversight on my part, because the Lord was correct. Carlo was ogling Miss Callie. He was looking at her entirely inappropriately. I relieved him of his duties immediately.”

The regret in my bodyguard’s response is evident, and I feel a pang of guilt that he somehow might be blaming himself.

“And he appeared to take it well?”

“He did. His compliance was suspicious. That was why I’d planned to have the team investigate him, but as I said, within hours it was as though he’d disappeared into thin air. Fuck. I should never have let him leave like that.”

“Gabriele Rossi. You have been a loyal member of my staff for many years. You did everything you could to find him. Luca did his best when he got back here, too. You had no idea of his fixation with my daughter at the time of his disappearance. I do not blame you for this. I vouched for Carlo. He came to me and asked for this post. I didn’t ask questions as he was a friend of the family.

I am more to blame than you. My complacency is to blame. It is a lesson for us all.”

I stride into the kitchen, my shoulders pulled back; my mind made up.

“Papa, I want to talk to Carlo. I want to ask him why he did what he did.”

Luca laughs. I hadn’t seen him standing in the corner of the room. My fists clench at my side as I try not to let his derision affect me.

“I don’t know what’s so funny. Don’t I deserve a chance to speak to him?”

“You can’t speak to him.” My brother moves to sit at the table next to Rossi.

“That’s not fair! You can’t tell me what I can do. Where is he?” I resist the urge to stamp my foot .

“You can’t speak to him because he’s dead, sorellina.” His tone softer this time.

“He’s dead?” I’m not particularly surprised, but I am disappointed.

“He’s dead.” My father confirms. He stands and reaches for the brandy bottle before collecting some glasses from the cupboard. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want it hanging over us through Christmas.”

I take the glass of brandy he offers me and sit down. The possible repercussions of Carlo’s death suddenly register.

“What will his family do to us in revenge?”

“There will be no retaliation. We learnt in the last few weeks he had been a frequent drug user. His family believe he overdosed from a misjudged dose.” It’s reassuring to know there will be no one seeking vengeance. I wanted to speak to Carlo directly, but there isn’t much I can do about it now.

“Rossi said Carlo believed I was promised to him, but it wasn’t true. I wanted to know why he believed that. Whether something I did made him act so crazy?”

Papa takes a sip of his brandy and places his glass on the table. He clasps his hands together.

“You’re aware that many marriages in our culture are arranged? Particularly between powerful families where we need to preserve trust?”

“Yes. Of course. I know yours and Mama’s marriage was arranged.”

“That’s right. Your mama and I fell very much in love, but our marriage was actually arranged years before we ever met.”