Wicked Little Games - Book 1 (Little Games Duet)

by Dee Palmer

  “No, Oskar, please don’t—” I choke on my words as I fight to contain the sob leaping from my chest.

  “Hush, no need for nonsense. It’s very simple, the chemo hasn’t worked.” He cuts me down, and I’m grateful. I don’t want to break. With everything that’s happened tonight, I’m not sure I could stop. “It is what it is, Tia. I’ve had a very good life. I have no complaints, but I do have some regrets that I intend to rectify. I need to make sure everything is in order.” I manage to meet his gaze, but the tears blur my focus before I can blink them away. He reaches for my hand and squeezes some comfort before he continues. “I have no intention of going just yet, my dear child. However, I’m a stickler for the details, and as you will see, I have left something for you. I want to give it to you now. I have it recorded here, in case there is any dispute when I am passed.” He points to the few lines with my name.

  “Dispute?”

  “Families never become quite so vile and loathsome as when they are fighting over a Last Will and Testament. I have made sure that won’t happen. This is my final Will.” I don’t doubt that for a moment, and it chills me to the bone to think Mrs Kruse could stoop any lower than she did tonight. Who am I kidding? Tip of the iceberg.

  I hand the sheet of paper back, and he replaces it carefully into the document on the floor.

  “Okay.” I wasn’t expecting anything like this, and I’m not sure what else to say. We have become very close over the last few weeks, unexpectedly close, really. I find his company entertaining and genuine; he’s very much like Cass, and I think in his absence, I am drawn to anything that makes me feel closer to him. Every day I find some excuse or other to visit, and I know Oskar wouldn’t tolerate my company if he didn’t enjoy the visits just as much as I do. He told me himself, he’s too old to play nice for politeness sake.

  “This was Atticus’s grandmother’s bracelet.” He hands me a tatty red Cartier box, which squeaks when I open it. My stomach drops, and I start shaking my head, because I’m too speechless to tell him this is too much, way too much. It’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen. A delicate art deco bracelet with so many diamonds my hands start to tremble with nerves that I’m holding the most expensive thing I ever have or am ever likely to hold. It’s so beautiful.

  “There are matching earrings and a ring. I very much expect Atticus will want to give you those himself, but this is from me.” He beams at me, and I swear there is the twinkle of a much younger man in his eye. “It was the first piece I bought Aurora when I could draw money from my trust fund. She was so surprised. I’m afraid it might be a little dated for your tastes.”

  “Oh, God, no, Oskar. It’s beautiful, perfect, but there’s no way I can accept it.” I reluctantly close the box and try to hand it back.

  “Nonsense, it’s mine to give, and I want you to have it.” He tucks his hands under his legs like a child, and I snicker. “You’ll offend me greatly if you refuse.” I let out a sigh, and he grins, knowing I am unlikely to continue to object after that statement, but he adds to his argument all the same. “I can’t very well take it with me. I won’t let you refuse because I can’t bear the thought of Mrs Kruse having any of the things I bought for the most wonderful lady in the world. It’s only fitting that you have this, Tia. Let that be an end to it.”

  “I don’t know what to say.” I take another peek inside the box.

  “Thank you will suffice.” His tone is all satisfied and smug. Just like his grandson, Oskar always seems to get what he wants.

  “Thank you.” I close the lid and slip the box into my pocket.

  “I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you, but keep it safe. Its value is just over a quarter of a million pounds.” Sipping his drink, he casually mentions a sum of money I can’t fathom.

  “Holy shit, Oskar!” My jaw drops. This may well be a trifling sum to the Kruse family, but in my world, money like that only ever comes from picking five numbers on the lottery.

  “I think we’ve had more than enough of that for one evening.” He raises a brow and lets out a deep chuckle.

  One year later

  “Tia?” His voice is pleading, but the hurt and anger is just tearing me up; I can’t bring myself to speak just yet. The only sound is from his end of the line, background noise of God knows what. He hasn’t been home in over a year, and now he’s just told me he’s not coming back for Christmas. He missed my birthday again, and all the plans we’ve been making for what seems like forever are proving to be more elusive than my nightly dreams. Dreams that feel so real, I often wake either in a hot sweaty mess or in a flood of tears.

  “What?” I snap when the silence becomes too much. I opt for cold hard anger rather than letting the pain escape. I know it won’t stop, if I release that floodgate. I miss him so damn much.

  “Please don’t be like that. I miss you so much, princess. I wish I could change things, I really do. It won’t always be like this, I promise.” His voice is softly coaxing me, but the tension is palpable, and his usual effective techniques at soothing me are having little to no effect.

  “You know your promises mean shit to me right now, Cass! You promised you’d be here for me, you promised you’d never miss another birthday…you promised me…us.” My voice wobbles, and I have to bite my mouth shut, grateful he can’t see the silent tears now flowing down my cheeks.

  “I’ll make it up to you, Tia. Please, you have to trust that I will keep my promises one day.” I can hear the anguish in his tone. It goes some way to placate me, knowing this is just as shitty for him as it is for me, but it’s only marginal.

  “When?” I manage to ask without audible evidence of my sorrowful state.

  “Soon, just not right now. It’s complicated, and I need you to trust me. I love you; that will never change.”

  “I don’t understand, Cass. I don’t see why you can’t just come home for a few days.” I rub my eyes dry.

  “Do you trust me?” he asks, avoiding my question.

  “Of course.”

  “It will get worse before it gets better, Tia, but when it does get better, it will all be worth it. You will be mine, and I will spend every day of the rest of my life making you happy and making up for this. I hate it as much as you do, believe me. That’s a solemn promise. Just remember that this is not forever. Us, Tia, us is forever.”

  “I still don’t understand.” The sadness in my voice is so damn pathetic, I wish I could take it back.

  “I know, but you trust me, and that’s all that matters. Now tell me you love me.” His tone switches from sweetly sincere to cocky arrogant, which actually makes me laugh

  “Arsehole,” I retort.

  “Close, but I think you pronounced that wrong.”

  “I love you, you arsehole.”

  “Tia,” His playful tone drops with the warning way he says my name. I huff but comply.

  “I love you, Cass.”

  “And I love you too, princess. You’re mine forever, remember?”

  “I seem to recall I made that promise at some point, yeah,” I quip, breaking the first smile in this entire conversation.

  “Good, because I’m going to hold you to it.”

  “I hate this long distance shit, Cass.”

  “Me, too, Tia, me, too. Look I don’t have long before my next seminar. Tell me something else, because your heartbreak is cutting me up, and I can’t go to class all shaken and glassy-eyed,” he argues.

  “You get glassy-eyed?” I snort at the ridiculous notion.

  “Well, not exactly, but I hate that you’re hurting, Tia. That fucking stings,” he clarifies, and my heart clenches with the reflected pain I can hear in his voice.

  “Yeah, it does. Not much to tell really. My art teacher thinks I should apply for a scholarship to study for my degree. She thinks with the unconditional offer from the Royal School of Art, I stand a really good chance, but I said I was thinking of taking the other offer. Do the business degree courses I had applied for, you know
, study something that might actually make me employable.” I sniff and shrug, although he can’t see. My fingers twirl through the thick curled cord of the phone until the tips are a deep purple with no circulation.

  “Your art teacher’s right, Tia, you have a gift.” Cass’s voice brooks no argument, and I smile at his obvious pride in my artistic ability. “You know, Grandfather spoke to me about offering to pay for your tuition. You don’t have to apply for a scholarship, Tia. If you want to go to art school, you don’t need to worry about money.”

  “He did say something like that, and I’ll tell you what I told him.” I can feel my hackles rise, but I know the offer is kindly meant, so I keep the attitude out of my reply. “It’s very sweet, but I’m not and never will be a charity case. If I accept a place, I’ll pay my own way. I’m just not sure art is the smart choice, after all, you’re not studying sports even though you have a gift with a bat.” I counter his argument.

  “I don’t have a choice, Tia. I have an empire to run when I graduate, and baseball skills aren’t going to secure the future of my family’s company. Besides, my gift is nothing compared to yours. Look, just think about it, okay?” he asks, and as with many things, I find I am unable to deny him.

  “I will.”

  “Good. Now, how’s Grandpa?”

  “You know I’m the only seventeen-year-old whose best friend is an eighty-three-year-old man.” I snort, but the thought of Oskar brings a huge smile to my face.

  “I bet he loves that.” He chuckles.

  “I do, too. He’s great, Cass. He talks a lot about your father, and he’s helped me with my University applications. And he is still whooping my arse at chess and poker. If I had any money, he would’ve cleaned me out a hundred times over by now. He’s a devil.”

  “That he is.” Cass laughs before asking one of the same questions he always does. “Have you been to any parties? It’s your last year of school, so you should go to a few, maybe.”

  “Maybe.” It’s the first time I’ve given a different answer, but he’s right. This is my last year. It’s still not that simple, though. “I’m not great at mingling, Cass. You know that. And getting home is always such a pain.”

  “I know. Just maybe make the effort this year, or you’ll be in for a hell of a shock when you get to Uni,” he warns. He’s quick to add, “Not that I want you getting drunk when I’m not there. I just hate the thought of you sitting around waiting.”

  “I didn’t think I was. I don’t need your pity, Cass, I need you,” I snap, irritated at his change in tone and his inaccurate assumption.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean that, Tia. I hate that I can’t make you happy, and I’m stupid enough to think encouraging you to get out will ease my conscience. Honestly, it would probably drive me crazy. This is hard for me, too, Tia. I comfort myself that this is a temporary hell, and it makes it just bearable.” He pauses, letting his voice drop low, and his words drift over my tender heart, soothing and healing the hurt. “One day we’ll be together, and I won’t ever let you go.”

  “I’m not going to ask you to promise, but I very much like the sound of that,” I reply.

  “I have to go, princess. I love you. Whatever happens, remember that.” He rushes his words, but they strike an uneasy chord.

  “What do you mean, ‘whatever happens’?” I challenge, but he brushes me off with a light laugh and sweet words.

  “Nothing, Tia, I love you.” Despite the churn in my tummy, I am quick to reply.

  “I love you, too, Cass.”

  “Good.” He ends the call before I can add anything else. The flat dial tone cuts through my muddled thoughts, and I find I’m left a little speechless, and I’m not exactly sure why.

  I rest my heavy head on my knees. I slid to the floor when I took the call, and my bottom is now numb, and my back aches from leaning against the wall in our narrow hall. The phone receiver’s still hanging limply in my hand. We must be the only people in the country that still have a landline with a corded phone receiver permanently attached high on the wall in the kitchen. The monotone sound of the dial tone is now drilling through my skull, and the pressure behind my eyes is building to a substantial headache. I drag myself to my feet and replace the receiver. The momentary respite from the ear-piercing noise is welcome, but the headache is in full swing, so the relief is brief. It’s five o’clock. I rushed home from school to catch Atticus before his afternoon lectures, and now I’m not sure how I feel. The excitement of hearing his voice has been overshadowed by the depressing reality of this long distance relationship remaining just that for a few more months.

  I let out a heavy sigh and decide to walk up to the Hall to do my homework. I used to hate being there when Atticus was away, but now, with Oskar to talk to, I draw a strange, familiar comfort from the place. With news of Cass’s most recent extended absence, I need that connection more and more. I grab my thick woollen winter coat and wrap my scarf several times around my neck and up to my ears. Slipping my portfolio over my shoulder, I brave the icy wind once more. It’s pitch black outside, and the road is deep with mud, slippery, and with the crumbling potholes, it’s treacherous. I make my way toward the Hall trying to avoid the darker patches on the road where the puddles could be anything from a few inches to knee deep. The ancient trees lining the drive creak and groan with the force of the wind howling through them, and the bare branches cast an ominous shadow against the cloud covered night sky. I shiver, but not from the freezing temperature. I don’t know why exactly, only I feel all kinds of unsettled since my phone call with Cass.

  In the distance, the Hall blocks out the horizon as I approach, rising like an ancient monolith. However, rather than scaring me as it once did, I smile. Only one of the windows in the front elevation has the faintest glow from inside, the rest are lifelessly dark. Oskar is in the library. I walk around the side of the house to the rear entrance into one of the boot rooms. My mother will still be here somewhere, but I’m not here to see her, and she will head home when she’s done without hunting me down. I shuck my outer layers, kick my boots near to the radiator, and make my way directly to the library.

  “Hello, my dear, I wasn’t expecting you today.” Oskar looks up from his newspaper, folding it neatly, and beaming his brightest smile my way. I’ve no experience of what a grandparent is, or how they act. I never knew mine. My only knowledge comes from Oskar, and I struggle to imagine there is a kinder soul than his out there. I quickly fell in love with his generous nature and wicked sense of humour. I flatter myself that he feels the same, his face certainly expresses his pleasure every time I enter the room. I have also seen him with people he doesn’t like, so I know he wouldn’t welcome me if he didn’t really want my company; he doesn’t suffer fools.

  “No, I know, I hope you don’t mind. I’m a little out of sorts and thought I could finish my homework here tonight. I’ll go before your nurse comes back to help you to bed.” I slip my bag from over my shoulder and lay it on top of one of the freestanding bookcases. Oskar had an easel set up by one of the large windows for me to use, but I only need to work on some sketches tonight, and besides, the light is dreadful in this room this time of the year.

  “Of course, you know you never need an excuse to come and visit. I’m not sure how many times I need to tell you that; you’re family.” The sincerity in his tone makes my nose tingle with the pressure of tears. I didn’t come here to cry. I shake myself and change the subject. I knew I felt out of sorts, but what the hell has gotten into me?

  “You’re very kind, although I’m not sure Mrs Kruse shares your view.” I set my supplies out on the sofa opposite him. “Can I get you a cup of tea before I set up?”

  “Maybe something a little stronger?” He nods toward the cabinet with a tray of cut crystal decanters and glasses on the top.

  “Sure, whiskey?” I walk over and check the brass labels for his favourite tipple.

  “Now you’re talking, you can help yourself, too,” he teases, only this
time I surprise him.

  “You know I think I will, just don’t tell my mother.” I tap my nose at our little secret. His wide eyes crinkle with pleasure.

  “Oh, I’m very good at keeping secrets, you can trust me.” He mirrors my nose tap, chuckling as he does.

  “I do trust you, Oskar.”

  “Good.” He sounds just like Cass when he says that word, so commanding and certain. I actually pause with the decanter hovering over the glass. I take a steadying breath before I continue to pour us both two fingers of his finest whiskey. “So tell me, young lady, what’s got you needing your first sip of my ‘water of life’?”

  “Cass,” I reply without bothering to turn.

  “Oh, he told you, did he? Finally, I don’t know why he kept putting it off. You’re a sensible girl; he needed to give you more credit.” Oskar sounds relieved, and it just makes my heart sink that, to everyone else, this is just how things are, yet to me, this is a daily torture and unbearable heartache.

  “Sensible or not, I still miss him.” I offer with a wistfully sad smile. I take the drinks over to where he is always seated, one end of the low sofa near the open fireplace. The flames are blazing high, licking the sides of the chimney flue. The firewood most recently added to the stack pops and hisses from the dramatic change in temperature. I love that sound, almost as much as I adore the rich aroma of seasoned logs burning.

  “I know, my dear, but it really won’t be forever.” He takes the glass of neat whiskey and motions for me to sit beside him, patting the sofa lightly. I climb on and tuck my legs beneath me. This looks very much like story time, and despite the mountain of work I have to do, this is just what I need and the very reason I’m unexpectedly here tonight. I nurse my own crystal tumbler of amber liquid. The fumes assault my nose, so I’m a little hesitant to take my first sip just yet. “Let me tell you about Atticus’s grandmother, Aurora.” He swirls the liquid and inhales deeply, a tender smile momentarily smoothing the permanent crinkles and lines around his mouth. “She was the most beautiful girl I ever saw. She was an angel, and I knew when I saw her in kindergarten that I was going to marry her.” I snicker but don’t attempt to hide the wide smile that notion evokes. “You may laugh, Tia, but when you know, you just know, don’t you agree?” He peers over the rim of his half moon glasses and knowingly raises his thick bushy brows. I nod and let out a resigned breath.