Introducing Caspian Hart to my family went pretty much the way I thought it would: which was to say, it was weird as hell, but everyone was super-committed to pretending it wasn’t.
Especially considering I had to skirt around our actual relationship. And he probably wasn’t what they were expecting from Ardy’s First Proper Boyfriend. He was charming, though. Attentive and courteous. Perfect gentleman caller material. Not shy, exactly, because there was too much assurance in him for that, but careful. Like he’d come to pick me up for prom and was concerned his intentions might not be deemed honorable.
And if my folks knew he was a wildly famous and important type person, they were too polite to make a big deal out of it. Rabbie did ask Caspian what he did and he replied mildly that he was in financial management. And it was only when I spotted a copy of TIME—which just happened to have Caspian right on the front, fierce and unassailable, all folded arms and moon-cold, predator eyes—that it became obvious we were being teased.
Caspian probably found the whole business excruciating.
But it made me as melty as caramel.
He made a valiant attempt to extricate himself in order to find a hotel but was met by a triple-reinforced wall of “oh no, we wouldn’t hear of it.” Because, obviously, putting the billionaire up in our tiny cottage would be much more comfortable for him.
I guess it was just lucky Hazel didn’t insist he help with the dinner. But, instead, Rabbie roped him into a game of chess. He’d tried to teach me when I was growing up, but no two ways about it, I sucked. Given I could barely decide what socks I was going to wear in the morning, it was probably fair to say strategic thinking was never really going to feature in my skill set.
We tried to warn Caspian off because Rabbie was a master and had a tough time finding people to play with, but Caspian seemed to take the role of dutiful guest very seriously indeed and soon they were settled over a board. The room filled up with a thoughtful quiet, broken only occasionally by the clack and shift of the wooden pieces.
For a little while, I stood at Caspian’s shoulder, hoping I could be the chess equivalent of the woman in a red dress who blows on the dice in every casino movie I’d ever seen. But I had no idea what was happening and he didn’t seem to need me to blow, uh, anything right then. Honestly, he looked the closest to peaceful I thought I’d ever seen him—the silk-sharp edge of his remorseless focus directed toward something that seemed to genuinely make him happy.
Another of his secrets, surrendered to me.
Eventually I left them to it and made myself useful by setting the table. Although mainly that was a smoke screen for swiping TIME. I was fully intending to read the article but it was full of words like financial transaction processing and asset management. So I let myself get distracted by the pictures instead. Caspian looked amazing in charcoal gray—all stern and sexy. And a pull quote formed a silver ribbon at the top of the page: “I have never been satisfied with success. I consider no endeavor complete until I have not merely succeeded in it, but mastered it utterly.”
Oh my.
I was pretty excited at the thought of being mastered utterly too.
Which really wasn’t what I needed to be daydreaming about right before a family meal.
The interview with Taylor Swift on the next page provided a calming influence. And, while I was wading through a paragraph about how she was totally, honestly done with boys, Mum came in and handed me an envelope.
“What’s this?” I asked.
She gestured toward the game. Mum was even quieter than usual around strangers, but it was okay. We could read each other effortlessly. “Caspian brought it?” I grinned. “Wow, what an inefficient way of delivering it.”
He glanced up. “Ah, but not all forms of communication take efficiency as their primary goal.”
I giggled. And everyone looked at us like we’d gone mad.
The letter turned out to be an invitation—a very posh invitation, in fact, to Ellery’s birthday, which was a ball themed around The Masque of the Red Death. It was printed on glossy black card and embossed in gold, a stylized carnival mask, suggested by a few bloodred lines, hovering somewhat ominously over “Miss Eleanor Isobel Antonia Hart requests the pleasure.” It was Ellery and not at all Ellery at the same time. And it was definitely the classiest, most intimidating invitation I’d ever received. It put Damn Frances to shame.
“Someone die?” asked Rabbie.
Caspian waved a hand dismissively. “My sister is turning twenty. She didn’t want a party, my mother insisted, and invitations that would better suit a funeral represent a compromise.”
Mum ran a finger over the shining tail of the M. “Compromises are usually just a solution nobody wants.”
“That’s how it works in my family. We sit down and come to a civilized agreement we all hate.” Caspian spoke lightly enough, almost as if he intended a joke, but I thought I caught a trace of bitterness.
It made me want to kiss him. Fill him with sweetness instead.
But I wasn’t quite ready to attempt that level of PDA in front of my parental-type units. Which left me hovering over his chair again in what I hoped was a comforting fashion. “How’s it going? Who’s winning?”
Rabbie laid his king down with a neat click. “He will. In three moves.”
“Wow. Really?”
“Aye.” I wasn’t sure how Rabbie was going to take this. Chess was kind of his thing and people generally didn’t like having their thing taken away from them. “Best game I’ve had for a long time.”
“Thank you.” The tone was mild, but Caspian looked a little flushed. Pleased.
