And Cameron has.
I’m not an idiot; I’ve seen him watching me. Since we were young, if that man caught sight of me, his stormy eyes would lock in and never stray. It was annoying at first, then slightly flattering, then something I ignored altogether. But now, havingspokento him, I’m certain of the kind of person he is.
Those nervous, darting eyes and unsure posture. The way he seems to force himself to be okay with physical contact, and how he can’t seem to adequately make a single decision or assumption on his own.
Like being unclear on whether I wanted his number, even as I held my phone out to him. Like not being able to pick a poison at his own party.
I just know, with everything in me, that he needs guidance. He craves a strong hand to move him through this life. AndIwant nothing more than an obedient, willing companion. It calms me, makes me feel needed and larger than life.
As soon as he spoke, his voice deep yet soft, I wanted to taste him. To see if he tasted like sweet submission, the way he sounds and acts.
I wanted it so badly that I entered a hormone-infested party, and I let that flirty girl—Cassie, I believe—from town have my phone number just so I could gethis.
And then, Ididtaste him. Sweet like candy yet layered in a glorious layer of fear and uncertainty. Like he wanted nothing more to crumble in my capable hands, but was too terrified to let go.
I will teach him to let go, even if I have to frequent the dreary landscape of Port Orford more often just to do so.
I’m unsure if I want to keep him forever, but I do know that I want to possess him completely and take away the burden of living this life alone.
At least for now.
The question is, will he let me? I think he will. I think that with enough swaying and enough comforting, he’ll collapse so beautifully.
“Atticus?” Atlas says, interrupting my thoughts once more. “Are you even listening to me? I’m floundering! How am I meant to graduate when I can barely understand this blasphemous book?!”
Blasphemous is a stretch, but even as we Chastains have always been devoted Christians, I’ve never been super dedicated. His choice of terminology doesn’t offend me, and I know for a fact that Atlas hasn’t gone to the chapel in days.
“You can do this,” I tell him, smiling gently as I stand from the lounge chair I was sprawled over and approach where he lies. “You’re smart, Atty.”
My hand smoothes over his curls, his lashes fluttering as he stares up at me in admiration.
How am I ever meant to settle when my brother already stares at me like I’m a god?
“But it’s difficult!” he cries.
“I know. But so many things are, and even if you only ever intend to be a beautiful little thing, gardening and taking care of your home, you still need basic knowledge of the world.” I attempt to placate him, knowing full well that Atlas doesn’t crave a career the way I do, but still wanting him to put his best foot forward.
“You’re right,” he mutters, pouting so insistently that his full bottom lip juts out in defiance. “I just want to finish already. I want to be like Momma and spend my days being beautiful and kind. Nothing else.”
“You alreadyarebeautiful and kind,” I insist. “But do you believe that Mother never finished school?”
Atlas shakes his head, glancing back at the book in his hands. “Fine. But after I finish high school, I’m not doing anything. I swear it.”
A soft laugh leaves me as I bend down and kiss his forehead, feeling his soft skin against my rough hands. “Sure, darling. Whatever you want.”
While Atlas craves to do nothing after graduating from high school, I’m at university for business. It is my duty as the eldest son to take over Portline Enterprise when my father retires, and I intend to be outstanding. Once I graduate with my bachelor’s, I’ll be able to start training under him, learning our trade.
And one day, I’ll marry and have kids—whether through physical creation or adoption—and take over Chastain Castle. Mother and Father will retire to our cottage home in town, living the simple life, while I maintain the integrity of our bloodline.
It is tradition. It is what I’ve been dreaming of since I was a little boy, clinging to my father’s pant leg.
As Atlas closes his book and disappears to the kitchen to greet Barfred, our cook, I head to my own room to do some homework.
All of our help is kind. Barfred is a few years older than I am, but still relatively young for his position, and as someone whois controlling and possessive in nature, I can sense some level of that in him, too.
Then we have Hannah, who is older than Barfred but not as old as our butler, Oscar, and who takes care of a lot of mundane cleaning and assistance.
Oscar is kind—he works closely with my father and has all of our best interests at heart.
