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TWENTY-THREE
CAMILLE
“Let’s have dinner on Saturday.” Lorenzo reached the front door first, prepared to let himself out. “And bring Camille.”
“How about the two of you go, and I stay home?” Cauldron asked like a smartass.
He turned to look at his son, a grin on his face. “That wouldn’t be the worst thing.” He reached for his shoulder to give him an affectionate grip.
Cauldron dodged the touch.
Lorenzo brushed off the rejection. “Let’s invite Grave too. Would be nice to have both my sons under one roof.” He walked out to his car parked in the roundabout.
Cauldron shut the door and locked it, giving a loud sigh of relief. “Fuck, glad that’s over.”
“He wasn’t that bad.”
The look he gave me could kill.
“I just mean, he’s more pleasant than Grave.”
“Because Grave is an even bigger asshole.” He walked past me, his shoulders tight and his demeanor angry. This last week had been like a fairy tale, but now, it was a torched pile of ash.
“At least your father wants to know you. Mine walked away and hasn’t thought of me twice.”
He had the humility to flinch.
“Just remember, things can always be worse.”
He stared at me coldly, like he had a comeback loaded in his throat, but he had the sense to keep it locked away. He abruptly turned and entered his study once more. He didn’t say anything, but he made it abundantly clear I wasn’t welcome.
Back to square one.
Cauldron had a separate living room in his bedroom, so I sat on the couch and watched TV. Hugo brought a dinner tray, and that told me we wouldn’t be dining together. Whenever Cauldron came to bed, it would be with a bad temper.
Black lingerie wouldn’t fix it.
Hours later, he entered the bedroom, his hair disheveled like he’d been fingering it all afternoon. He smelled of booze too, even from across the room. His eyes were bloodshot, as if he’d passed out on the couch then woke up with a bad headache.
He stripped off his clothes and went straight to bed.
I didn’t want to deal with his temper, so I turned off the TV and got comfortable on the couch, using one of the decorative pillows to sleep on. There was a blanket over the back of the couch, so I pulled that over me and got comfortable.
“Get your ass in here.” He said it in a raspy voice, like he was tired from the shitty day.
I returned to the bedroom and dropped my bottoms before I got in beside him. The plush mattress was much better than the lumpy couch in the other room, and the soft sheets were the perfect cocoon to keep me warm and comfortable. But the tension emitting from his hard body took away the feeling of contentment.
I didn’t bother talking about it. Addressing the thing we were both thinking about would just piss him off. I’d come to learn that silence was the best medicine, at least with him.
“You might find him charming, but I find him despicable. He’s the reason I don’t have a mother. He’s the reason I’m irreparably fucked up. He’s the reason I feel so empty. He’s the reason I can be on a state-of-the-art yacht, surrounded by beautiful women, and feel utterly alone. He’s the reason I can’t give you what you want.”
I turned onto my side so I could look at him, see him lying flat on his back and staring at the ceiling.
“I hate him.” It came out as a whisper, but it still packed a serious punch.
“He’s not the reason you feel this way, Cauldron. You are.”
He turned his head to look at me.
“I know it’s hard, but…you have to let it go.”
His eyes shone with betrayal.
“Hating your father won’t bring back your mother. Giving him another chance will enhance her memory. He probably has stories about her that you’ve never heard. Knows things about her that you never knew. I’m sure your mother would want the three of you to be together, despite what happened.”
“Grave isn’t her son.”
“But he’s your brother—and that’s good enough.”
He looked at the ceiling again.
“Your father loves you.”
He was still.
“And I can tell he still loves your mother. You can see it in his face every time you mention her. He still carries that grief. You hate him for what he’s done…but I doubt you could ever hate him more than he hates himself.”
“But I could try,” he said coldly.
My hand reached for his torso under the blanket. “Or you could try to be happy—with me.”
“It’s complicated…”
“It’s not that complicated, Cauldron. The only reason you’re unhappy is because you choose to be.”
“You know I still hear her screams? All this time later?”
I didn’t know what to say.
“In my dreams… Happens at least once a week.”
“I think about the moment my mother passed away every day. I remember the instant her hand went limp when she took her last breath. I remember how pale her face was. I remember how weak she was. I remember the first time I slept with a man for money. I remember the first time a man beat me once he was done with me. I remember all the horrific things that happened to me—but that doesn’t stop me from being happy with you.”
