“It’s Brielle’s fault. She called you Caligula, and it stuck.”
He snorts. “Charming.”
“I dunno, if the cap fits…” I lift my eyebrows as he glares at me. “He thought he was a living god, and he was known for extreme extravagance and sexual excesses. Tell me that doesn’t sound like you.”
“Well, I’ve never fucked my sister, so I think that should be a mark in my favor.”
I giggle, and that earns me a wry look as Joe brings a tray over with our drinks. He puts the muffins between us, checks we don’t want anything else, and retreats.
Caesar passes the plate to me. I survey the mini muffins and choose a chocolate-chip one, and he does the same.
He eats the muffin in one bite, then sips his coffee as he watches me pick out the chocolate chips and nibble them.
“Funny to think of you having a mum,” I say.
He gives me an amused look. “Why?”
“I assumed you came into the world as a fully formed adult. I can’t imagine you as a boy.”
“I was a wonderful kid. A little angel.”
I snort. “Yeah right.” I have another chocolate chip. “What’s your mum like?”
“Warm. Funny. Gentle.” He takes another muffin and studies it for a moment.
“Oh, of course,” I say softly, “she had breast cancer, didn’t she? How is she?”
“She’s had treatment, and she’s recovering now. She used to have all this red hair…” He mimes wild curls. “She lost it all, which was traumatic for her. It’s growing back now, although she’s keeping it short.”
I rest a hand on his arm. “I really am sorry for teasing you about her.”
He gives me a strange look. “That’s okay. Anyway, the name Caesar was my father’s idea. He had a thing about the Roman Empire and creating a legacy. Mum would think calling me Caligula was hilarious.”
I chuckle, go to take a bite of the muffin, then put it down as nausea sweeps over me.
“Still feeling nauseous?” he asks. When I nod, he says, “How’s the head?”
I tip my hand from side to side, putting the muffin down, and draw up my legs so I’m curled up in the seat. “I might listen to some music for a while, if that’s okay. It tends to help with the sickness.”
“Of course.” He pulls out his phone and settles back to read.
I turn on my noise-cancelling headphones, start a playlist of ocean sounds, and close my eyes. Hopefully the queasiness will pass by the time we land.
The hum of the engines reverberates through me. I can smell Caesar’s cologne, subtle enough not to affect my sickness. I open my eyes a little and see his arm, bare from the sleeve down, the skin tanned, scattered with light-brown hair. If I were to reach out, I’d be able to touch him.
I don’t. But I could, if I wanted to.
*
A hand on mine makes my eyelids flutter open. I blink, wondering where I am. I’m curled up in a seat, and my temple is resting against a solid male shoulder. My hand is hooked over his arm.
I rear back in alarm and whip off my headphones. “Oh my God.”
“You were dead to the world,” he says. “Do you feel better now?”
I nod, because my nausea has vanished. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t sleep well last night.” I look at his smart polo shirt. “Fuck, I dribbled on your arm.”
He looks at it, then up at me. “Not the first time you’ve soaked my shirt. It’s starting to be a habit.”
