“What if I read to you?”
I was so surprised, I thought I was having legit delusions. “W-what?”
“If it’s something you would enjoy.” Caspian drew up a knee, folding his hands across it self-consciously. “When I was young, and couldn’t sleep, my father would often read to me. I remember finding it quite soothing.”
“My mum used to read to me, too. It was the loveliest. But I guess it’s the sort of thing you probably have to grow out of.”
The shadow of a smile tugged at the corners of Caspian’s lips. “Dad was very fond of quoting C. S. Lewis on that subject: ‘When I became a man I put away childish things, including the fear of childishness and the desire to be very grown up.’”
“I keep thinking I would like to be grown up,” I admitted. “I mean, maybe notverygrown up. But grown up enough not to leave the laundry until I have literally run out of clothes.”
He blinked. “That is not a problem I’ve encountered.”
“Because you’re a grown-up.”
“No, because I have a housekeeper.”
That made me laugh—a proper, unsullied, unhesitating laugh. And God, it felt good. The closest I’d come to normal this whole fucked-up week. “That’s definitely cheating. But childish or not, I’d love it if you read to me. Something nice, mind. I don’t think I can cope with intergalactic wars or quantum universes.”
“I’m sure I can find something suitable.” Caspian did not lean over the side of the bed the way I did because he had a sense of personal dignity (though he also had an amazing arse, so in some respects it was shame) and, instead, knelt down on the floor to retrieve the box.
“Will you do voices?” I asked as he sifted carefully through his father’s books.
He glanced up at me. “I’m not sure that’s within my abilities.”
“Will you try?”
“You may very well come to regret that, but if you insist.” Regaining his feet, with his usual poise, he held out a book—a red hardback with a picture of a hilltop castle in a circle on the front. “How do you feel aboutThe Princess Bride?”
I actually gasped. “Caspian, I love love loveThe Princess Bride. But I had no idea it was a book.”
“It’s somewhat more involved than the film. Though still rather charming.”
“Rather charming? I am losing my shit here.” I was so excited I was practically bouncing. “I can’t believe you’re going to read meThe Princess Bride. That’s so much better than Columbo.”
“Better than what?”
I huffed out an impatient sigh. “The granddad in the movie—he’s the guy who played Columbo.”
A blank look from Caspian.
“The detective in the brown raincoat. You know”—I held up a finger—“‘just one more thing.’”
Still nothing.
“Never mind.”
Caspian settled himself back on the bed—and this time it seemed the most natural thing in the world for me to creep into the nook beneath his arm and for him to draw me in tight against his side. “It’s a little different in the book,” he said. “It’s a father reading the story to his son because he remembers his father reading it to him. Which”—he frowned—“in retrospect, makes it a poor choice, given tonight’s events. I’m so sorry. Shall we try something else?
“What? No. Just because I have a shitty father doesn’t mean I can’t cope with fictional dads.”
“I’m relieved. It was my intent to comfort you, not distress you. But I’ve never been particularly talented in this area.”
“Oh, Caspian.” I was so completely, perfectly, blissfully cosy that his name staggered, half-slurred, out of my mouth. “You’ve always been perfect for me.”
At which point, he fell awkwardly silent, looking down at me, the book apparently forgotten in his hands. “Arden, I…”
“Are you all right?”
