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It’s concerning. Alarming.
“What happened?” I ask, leaving him to go and pour myself a glass of water from the kitchen. I’m parched from dancing. From being around him. From watching the way that tailored suit fits his broad shoulders and strong legs.
I need distance.
Distance is good.
Kastle shakes his head.
I open my mouth to investigate further, but I’m interrupted by my chirping cell phone. Thinking it’s my parents again, I put the phone to my ear. “Hello.”
“Kaelyn.” A familiar voice slithers through the speakers.
My expression tightens when I hear it.
My head whips up.
Lock on his.
The truth dawns on me immediately.
I know why Kastle rushed here.
I know why he needs air.
It’s his prison.
His jailor.
His mom.
Three
Kaelyn
I bite my tongue. The ‘screw you’ frothing on the tip of it won’t sit well with Kastle. Or Amelia. I have to keep it locked away. Hidden from view. The moment I let loose on her, our tenuous truce will end, and all those Christmas and Thanksgiving invitations will be rescinded.
It’s not like I give a damn about sitting around the Jameson table, making polite conversation. It’s annoying. Fake. Way too freaking fake.
But I go everywhere Amelia calls me.
Because, over their cardboard-dry turkey and expensive china, is a man with deep black eyes, wavy black hair and a smile that he rarely unleashes but, Lord, when it does, it can light up my entire world.
Kastle gets dragged around to far, far more places and put in way more awkward situations than me. And if my presence makes the insufferable moments easier, then so be it.
“Mrs. Jameson,” I say instead of the litany of curse words that fly into my head. “How are you?”
At the sound of his mother’s name, Kastle lifts his chin.
Something passes over his eyes.
Annoyance. Frustration. Maybe even anger.
He hates that his mother invaded this sacred space where it’s supposed to be only me and him.
His gaze turns firm. He swipes his palm over his neck in a ‘cut it out’ gesture. Hang up.
I turn away from him. Ignore the request.
