“Uh, what?” Not exactly the cutting response I wanted but it was the best I could manage.
“If you care for him at all, you’ll stop this.”
“Um, stop what? Seeing Caspian?”
“What you’re doing with him.” Something flickered in Nathaniel’s expression. A tinge of discomfort. Embarrassment?
And that was when I knew he’d…oh God…he’d seen us. Outrage crashed down on me. And then just this sad exposed feeling that someone who wouldn’t understand had shoved their way into something beautiful and personal and special to me. My mouth opened and closed a few times as I tried to find my way to a response.
Nathaniel’s expression softened. “Look, Aidan—”
“Arden,” I snapped.
But he pressed on as if I hadn’t interrupted. “I’m sure you think what you’re doing is harmless. But it isn’t.”
“Yeah.” Somehow I didn’t punch him right in his smug face. “Thanks for the safe, sane, and consensual lecture but Caspian isn’t hurting me and I have no intention of hurting him.”
Nathaniel gazed at me with all this…patronizing fucking sadness in his honey-gold eyes. “Except you are.”
“How?” I should have known better than to let him draw me. But: too late now.
“He’s smoking again, for a start.”
I pulled off a truly Ellery-worthy eye roll. “One cigarette a month is hardly going to kill him.”
“Is that what he told you? And you believed him?”
Now that I thought about it…he did tend to reach for his cigarettes once we’d sexed. And he’d smoked after dinner. And during Star Wars. And just now in the garden. Oh fuck. Fuuuuuck.
Nathaniel was shaking his head at me. “You poor, sweet boy. You don’t know him at all, do you?”
“I…I’m in love with him,” I said, in the world’s smallest voice.
“I can see why you’d believe that. Caspian can be quite dazzling when he chooses. But you don’t understand anything about who he is. Or the damage you’re doing to him.”
I tried to reply…to protest…to defend myself. Defend him. Defend us. But I had nothing. Caspian had de-clawed me with his secrets. Left me powerless and alone.
“You deserve better,” Nathaniel went on softly. “He’s using you like his cigarettes. You might feel good in the moment, but you’re bad for him. And don’t think he doesn’t know that. He won’t forgive you for what you’d turn him into.”
His gazed at me. I probably looked horrified. But he was serene, his eyes unflinching, full of the fires of the just and the true. I gathered up the ashes of my anger. “Maybe,” I retorted, my voice ricocheting off too much marble, “what I’m turning him into is someone happy with who he is.”
For a moment, I thought maybe I’d struck him back. That he wouldn’t have an answer for me this time. He even turned and started walking away. But I guess he wanted to pose, as he paused and threw over his shoulder: “He’s not looking for happiness, Arden. He’s looking for redemption.”
I shouted “Fuck you” at his back.
But it was a storm of paper arrows. Nothing but bravado.
* * *
We were quiet on the ride to One Hyde Park. Mostly because my mouth felt like Pandora’s box and I was sure only horrible stuff would come flying out if I opened it. Caspian was looking out of the window, the lights and shadows of the city dancing across the perfect sculpture of his face.
In the end, unable to bear the silence, I hit upon the cunning notion of pretending to be asleep. Except it somehow slipped into something very close to real sleep. And I was only sludgily aware of Caspian carrying me up to the apartment. Undressing me. Ineptly sponging away my butterfly wings when I had cleanser for God’s sake. And then tucking me in. As he bent over me to kiss me, I caught his wrist.
“What happened tonight?”
He froze. “Oh, you know how it is. Families are always difficult.”
“That’s not an answer.”
