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Cain shrugged as though it didn’t matter, but she sensed it did. He didn’t shake off her hand, just shifted back slightly to end the contact.
“I don’t get you,” she said quietly, returning her hand to her side of the table. “You seem to hate her, yet you’re still here, going along with her plan, albeit reluctantly.”
“You wouldn’t get it.”
“Try me.”
Cain drummed his fingers once against the ceramic mug. “Most of my life has been shit. Some of it my own fault, some of it not.”
His gaze dropped to the table. “As a kid, I spent a hell of a lot of time wishing things were different, that I’d been dealt a different hand. I guess when Edith’s lawyer showed up on my doorstep, for a brief, idiotic moment, I was that kid again, thinking I’d finally been dealt a couple aces.”
His expression was mostly twisted up in anger, but for the briefest of seconds, Violet thought she saw something else.
Longing.
Something she understood all too well. But though Violet typically excelled at making people feel comfortable, she didn’t try to soothe with pretty words the way she would with someone else who was clearly hurting.
Instinct told her Cain Stone would throw it right back in her face.
Instead, she scratched her nose and then repeated back what he said when she’d told him about her parents. “Sucks.”
Cain blinked, then let out a single bark of laughter. She’d surprised him again. She liked surprising him.
“What do you do? Back in Louisiana, for work?” she asked, wanting to keep him talking.
“Distribution company.”
She waited for him to explain and bit back a sigh when he didn’t, realizing that her makeover plan for the man would need to include the art of conversation.
“What’s that entail?” she asked.
He looked surprised and a little annoyed by the question, as though he hadn’t expected a follow-up. “Restaurant food distribution. The hospitality business is big in New Orleans. We transport oysters and shrimp to the fish markets, started supplying direct to some of the restaurants in the French Quarter. Other stuff too.”
“Do you like it?”
“It pays the bills.”
“That’s not an answer,” she said.
“It’s the only one you’re gonna get.”
Violet wanted to protest but was interrupted by the arrival of their food. Lots of food, almost all of it placed in front of Cain.
She had to admit that by the time the waitress slid a plate of sourdough toast, shiny with butter, onto a bit of spare space near Cain’s elbow, her fruit parfait looked rather unappetizing.
“All good?” the waitress asked.
Cain looked up. “Tabasco?”
“Right. Give me a sec.”
Cain bit into a piece of bacon and noted Violet’s expression. “Regrets?”
“Not one,” she said primly, lifting her spoon, then cleaning it with her napkin when she noticed water spots.
Still chewing the bacon, Cain picked up the maple syrup, liberally doused the stack of pancakes, and pushed it toward her.
“Oh no, I’m fine,” she said, gesturing with her spoon at the yogurt and meager sprinkling of not-quite-ripe berries.
Cain shook his head in annoyance and used his fork to hack off a bite of pancakes, then held it across the table to her, either not noticing or not caring when the syrup dripped onto the table.
“I’m fine,” she repeated.
Cain lifted his eyebrows in challenge. Since avoiding a scene was second nature to her and he was standing his ground and people would likely start staring, she quickly accepted the bite of pancakes, mostly to end the awkwardness.
She began to chew, then stilled for a moment as she registered the sugary, decadent flavor. “Oh. Oh my.”
Cain’s eyes seemed to flash hot for a split second, only to be replaced quickly by his usual cutting smirk. “Maybe I can teach you something in all this, Duchess.”
“Like what?” She dabbed at a bit of syrup on her lip.
He cut off a piece of his omelet, then caught her gaze. Held it. “Like the fact that life should be better than fine.”
Seven
Sorry, but this part is nonnegotiable. You need new clothes,” Violet said, facing off with Cain as she gestured to the clothing store on the corner of Eighty-Fifth and Madison.
“So do what normal people do these days. Buy me a shirt online, and we’ll call it good.”
“No, we won’t call it good. I like a good online shopping spree as well as the next person, but first we have to establish your signature style.”
Whoops. Wrong choice of words for a man like Cain.
He stared at her a moment, then turned and unceremoniously walked away.
She hurried after him, caught his arm. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. But look, we’re already here. And you did tell Edith you’d try to fit in…”
He pulled his arm away from her angrily. “I can run a company just fine in what I’m wearing.”
“Some companies, yes,” Violet said calmly. “But not Rhodes. I get why you’re resentful, I do. You want to be measured by your character, not your appearance. But in this world, the one Edith wants you to enter, impressions matter. Clothes matter.”
