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I have a bad feeling about Lucas. He’s always had shitty timing. And Michela’s words have done their damage. I know my father will want to hand him everything I’ve built on a silver fucking platter. Firstborn son bullshit. First by seconds.
We were born holding hands, Lucas and I. Mom would always tell us that story especially when we fought. It’s hard to imagine it now even though there was a time we were close.
My father poisoned that, though.
When the hour is up, I get up from my desk and walk into the living room. They’re still in the same position, but they both get quiet when they see me.
“Cash,” I say, not taking my eyes off Liam.
“Sir.”
“See Liam out.”
“Already?” Cristina asks, but Liam stands and puts up a hand to stop the argument he must hear coming just like I do.
“It’s what we agreed,” he tells her but looks at me. “I’ll hold up my end of the bargain.”
“Then you’ll be allowed to see her again.”
Cristina gets up and walks him to the door as I pour myself a whiskey and watch their emotional goodbye. Well, emotional on Cristina’s part. Cash escorts Liam out.
Once he’s gone, she turns to me. She wants to hate me, but I can see she’s struggling with it.
“Thank you,” she says finally, stretching the sleeves of her sweater into her hands and folding her arms across her chest. She does that a lot, tugging her sleeves into her palms. It’s when she’s at a loss for what’s expected or what to do.
I notice she’s barefoot then. She hadn’t put her shoes on after getting up from her nap. Not sure why the sight of her bare feet has me so intrigued. Maybe it’s the vulnerability of it. I like it.
“You’re welcome.” I sip my drink and check my watch. “We have a dinner reservation in half an hour. There’s a dress and shoes for you in the closet in the master bedroom.”
She stands there, biting the inside of her cheek. She wants to be contrary. I can see it. Is this in her nature, or is it reserved just for me?
“Which one is the master?” she asks a full minute later.
Good.
I gesture to the double doors at the end of the hall.
She disappears, and I swallow the rest of my drink as I wait for her.
When she returns twenty minutes later dressed in the knee-length, strappy little black dress and high heels, it takes me a minute to mask my thoughts. She’s brushed her hair but left it hanging in loose waves to her chin, the uneven cut on her looking like it was done intentionally. She’s also wearing a little makeup, I notice. Well, lip gloss at least.
This is what she’s giving me for that hour with her cousin. Progress, even if it is a baby step.
“You look beautiful. See how easy things are when you don’t fight me?” I know it’s a dick thing to say, but I can’t help myself. I pick up her coat and hold it out for her to step into it.
“I’m just hungry and figured we’d resume the fighting after we eat.” She slips her arms into the coat and pulls away from me as soon as it’s on.
“I have no doubt.”23Cristina“Why did you do that?” I ask once we’re seated and have our drinks. We’re at a high-end, swanky restaurant in the heart of the city. I sip my cosmopolitan, which technically they’re not supposed to serve me since I’m under twenty-one, but people seem to turn a blind eye when I’m with Damian.
“Don’t drink that too fast. You haven’t eaten much.”
I take another sip just because. “Tell me.”
“Why did I let you see your cousin?”
I nod.
“I’m not completely without a heart, Cristina.”
“I don’t believe that. I don’t believe you’d do anything if there isn’t something in it for you. So, what’s in it for you?”
“You don’t know me as well as you like to think you do.” He sips his drink, the usual whiskey.
“Is it that you felt bad about being a dick earlier?”
He snorts, then takes another sip of his drink. “Don’t read too much into it. It was a test for your cousin.”
“And how did he do?”
“Passed with flying colors. He’s more a man than your uncle.”
The waiter arrives with our dishes before I can ask what he means.
I sit up, my mouth watering. I’m hungry, and the steak smells delicious. I pick up my knife and fork, aware Damian’s watching me without even picking up his utensils yet. He watches me a lot.
“It’s ruined like that,” he says when I slice into the meat.
I pop a bite of butterflied, well-done to the point of being burnt filet mignon into my mouth. “It’s delicious like this,” I say around my mouthful. I point my knife at his bloody steak. “Is that even warm?”
