by Karen Kincy
“Perfect.” He sips his beer. “Just perfect.”
Late afternoon sun pours honey light over the trees, and I almost agree with him.
“Like the lager?” Fitz says.
“I do,” I say. The more beer I drink, the less jittery I feel.
Free from his leash, Sherlock sniffs around the lawn and rolls in the grass. His tongue lolls from his mouth. He looks blissful just getting dirty in the gardens. Sometimes I wish I could be that dumb and happy.
My beer runs out and I set down the empty bottle. “Another?”
Bram arches an eyebrow, but hands me a beer. “Should we get a bite to eat?”
“Sure.”
Fitz types on his phone, hunt and peck. “There’s pizza here.”
I laugh. “There’s pizza everywhere.”
“Are we all in agreement?” Bram says.
I twist my mouth. “You can’t resist the cheesy goodness.”
He snorts. “Toppings?”
“Olives, artichokes, pepperoni.” I raise my finger. “No mushrooms.”
Fitz shrugs. “I’m fine with whatever.”
“I’ll order two,” Bram says. “One pepperoni, one with all those healthy vegetables.” He makes a face as he dials.
Sunshine soaks my skin. I close my eyes and bask in the heat.
Don’t think.
Just be.
By the time I swig my second beer, I’m almost calm. Fitz goes to his car to get another six-pack, and Sherlock trots after him with a silly dog grin. Bram looks sideways at me, smiles slowly, and breaks into a laugh.
“What?” I say.
“We have a minute alone.”
“Oh, don’t even—”
He leans across his chair and kisses me. His hand cups my breast, his thumb rubbing my nipple until it perks under my dress.
I push him away. “We’re going to get caught.”
“Is wanting you a crime?” His eyes dance with laughter. “I’d rather be guilty.”
“Bram.” I giggle. “You’re tipsy.”
“I’ve had one beer. You, on the other hand...”
I glance heavenward. “So sue me.” I hold out my hand without even looking. “One more?”
He laughs.
Fitz brings more beer. Sherlock bounds toward me and sniffs my hand, then jumps back and dives into a playful bow.
“You want to play?” I say.
Sherlock woofs like he’s trying not to bark.
“Are you being good, boy?” When I stand, my head feels light. “Let’s find a stick!”
The dog follows me onto the lawn. I grab a branch under a beech tree and toss it for him. Sherlock races after it and runs back, but he flops in the grass and chews on it. Obviously nobody ever trained him how to fetch.
I stand with my hands on my hips. “Drop it.”
Sherlock growls playfully.
I point at the ground. “Drop the stick.” He ignores me, so I grab a pinecone and chuck it over his head. “Get it!”
Sherlock drops the stick and wheels after the pinecone. Laughing, I snatch the stick. Drool clings to the shredded bark. We play together, switching between the pinecone and the stick, until it’s time to eat.
“Pizza!” Bram calls.
I jog back to the patio. “Let me wash the drool off my hands.”
He nods and continues his conversation with his dad.
When I leave the bathroom, I run into Grace and Lavinia. Both of them dressed down, thank God, so I don’t feel like a complete slob. Lavinia gives me the politest of smiles, while Grace’s looks more genuine.
“Where are the boys?” Lavinia says.
“On the patio.” I return her smile. “There’s pizza.”
Her mouth twitches. “And beer.” It’s not a question. “I could use a drink.”
I’m not sure how I feel about her, but I follow her out to the patio. Bram hugs his mother and his sister before presenting the boxes of pizza on a rickety table. Everyone takes a slice or two; we sit together as the sun fades.
Lavinia steals a beer from her son. “Ladies first.” She takes a swig.
Grace laughs. “That’s hardly ladylike, Mam.”
Her eyes bright, Lavinia waves her hand. “Oh, who gives a damn.” She kicks off her shoes and perches in a seat.
“Amen,” I say.
When Bram grins at me, my heart aches so hard my eyes sting. I can’t tell him how I feel. Not here. Not now.
So I smile back.
43
Bram
After the beer and the pizza, after the laughter and the sunset, Mam and Dad and Grace say their goodbyes. Sherlock won’t go with Dad, whimpering pitifully, until Cassia convinces me to keep him in the kitchen. She stands by the windows in the dining room, staring out at the garden. Evening hushes Wolfenwold Hall.
When I kiss the back of her neck, she turns in my arms and smiles. “We’re alone.”
“Finally.”
I kiss her softly, holding her by the window, my hand curved around her ass. She leans against me and tilts back her head.
“Bram,” she whispers.
“You’re coming with me.”
She laughs, breathless. “Which way?”
“Both.”
I drag her upstairs and walk her to my bedroom. She’s breathing fast now, her cheeks flushed, her lips parted. Her nipples tighten beneath her dress. I untie the halter behind her neck and let the fabric fall to her waist.
“I love seeing you naked.” I kiss between her breasts.
She lets out a little gasp. “Bram, please.” With a twinge of worry, I glance into her eyes. “Please just fuck me.”
All uncertainty flees my mind. I sweep her onto my bed and lay her down. My hard cock strains behind my fly. She grabs my ass, her fingernails digging in, and I grunt with a halfway involuntary thrust of my hips. I unbuckle my belt, my cock throbbing, and strip off my trousers. I can’t get naked quick enough.
“Bram.” She lifts herself on her elbows. “You have—?”
“Yes.” I twist my mouth. “The glow-in-the-dark ones.”
She flings back her head and laughs, her hair swirling on my sheets. I find the condom and tear the foil with my teeth.
“You probably shouldn’t bite them.” She giggles. “Is it glowing?”
I grunt and roll it on. “I don’t bloody well care.”
I slide my hands under her dress and yank her underwear down. She arches her hips upward to help me. My hands on her waist, I drag her to the edge of the bed and thrust into her. A groan escapes my throat.
She’s so wet. So hot. I pull out and stroke in again, my bollocks tightening.
“I don’t want to be polite,” I say.
“Oh?” Breathing hard, she stares into my eyes. “I couldn’t tell.”
I growl and pound into her until she’s gasping, clinging to me, all but begging. A whimper escapes her throat. It’s too much. My self-control breaking, I crush her against me as my cock throbs deep inside her.
“Christ.” Panting, I brace myself on the bed. “I’m sorry.”
Cassia drags me down to the crumpled sheets. “It’s not your fault.” She smiles at me. “I’m just too fucking hot.”
I shake my head. “I owe you.”
“You do.” She hides a yawn behind her hand. “Definitely.”
I point at her. “Don’t fall asleep.”
She laughs.
When I return from the bathroom, she’s curled under the sheets, her eyes closed. Pretending to be asleep, I’m sure. I lie behind her and hold her against the length of my body. Sweat cools her flushed skin.
“Bram?” she murmurs.
“Yes?”
“I wish I could sleep with you every night.”
My breath catches in my throat. “You could.”
She sighs, like this isn’t even a possibility, and drags the sheet over her cheek. I stroke the curve of her waist. “You haven’t seen my flat in London.”
“Is it nice?”
> “Very.”
“Posh?” She mumbles the word.
“Slightly.”
“How can something be slightly posh?”
“If you have slightly enough money to decorate.”
She rolls over and touches the tip of my nose. “How did you decorate your bachelor pad? Manly movie posters?”
“Obviously.” I keep a straight face. “And I have a fridge dedicated to beer.”
“That’s actually a brilliant idea.” She mimics my accent.
I laugh. “You’re terrible at that.”
“At what?”
“Sounding Irish.”
She squints. “I’ve never been to Ireland.”
“Never?” I stroke her hair from her face. “You would love Dublin.”
“I don’t have an excuse to go to Dublin.”
“I just gave you one.”
She meets my gaze, her eyes glimmering in the evening, her lips parted like she wants to speak, but doesn’t know what to say.
Like she’s considering my offer.
“There’s also Donegal.” I sound so calm, which is an utter lie. “Where I was born.”
A smile shadows her mouth. “I’m trying to imagine you as a little boy. Were you even more of a redhead then?”
I grin. “How did you guess?”
She rubs the stubble on my jaw. “You’re still ginger.” Her hand ruffles my hair. “Even though your hair is darker.”
I kiss her on the lips until she melts beneath me.
“I love your eyes,” she whispers.
The air catches in my throat. I have to remind myself to breathe. For a second, I thought she said I love you.
I look away, afraid my face will betray me, afraid there’s no way to hide the way I feel.
“Bram?”
I swallow hard and twist my mouth into a smile. “I’m fond of your ass, myself.”
She rolls her eyes, but she’s smirking. I hold her tighter against me, to press her skin to mine, to imagine I will never let her go.
44
Cassia
I wake in the darkness. A sliver of moonlight creeps through the curtains. Bram lies behind me, his arm draped over my waist, his breathing slow against my neck. Downstairs, a bark echoes in the empty house.
Sherlock.
With a sigh, I lift Bram’s arm. He stirs and mumbles something, but doesn’t wake. He looks peaceful, the silver moonlight erasing the bruises from his skin. When Sherlock barks again, Bram frowns in his sleep.
“Damn dog,” I whisper under my breath.
I’m halfway to the door when I smell it. Just a trickle on the air.
Smoke.
My hand freezes on the doorknob, the brass cold under my skin. “Bram?” He grunts. “Bram? Wake up!”
“What?” He sits upright in bed. “What is it?”
“Do you smell smoke?”
He kicks off the sheets, jumps out of bed, and throws open the door. A tendril of smoke drifts into the bedroom.
Coughing, I cover my mouth. “Where is that coming from?”
“Get dressed.” His voice invites no discussion. “Now.”
Reality finally snaps into focus.
Fire.
Adrenaline spikes my blood. Hands shaking, I drag on my clothes. “Where are my shoes? I can’t find my shoes.”
“I don’t know.” He grabs his phone, his wallet, his keys.
Sherlock keeps barking. The smoke thickens and tickles my throat.
Bram grabs my hand. “Don’t let go.”
“I won’t.” My stomach churns with fear. “You shut the door to the kitchen, didn’t you? Sherlock’s trapped down there.”
We hurry to the staircase. He grips my hand so hard my bones ache. Barefoot, I feel out the edges of the steps, afraid of falling. Bram breaks into a run, catching me before I stumble. We fly over the last few steps.
Smoke billows from the hallway. Barking, Sherlock scrabbles against the kitchen door.
I hold my sleeve to my mouth. “We can’t leave him.”
Sherlock’s bark turns into a whine. He has to hear my voice. I run toward the kitchen, dragging Bram behind me.
When I fling open the door, Sherlock bolts out and knocks me down. My hands and knees hit the floorboards. Bram hauls me upright, his fingers like iron, and stares down the hall. Orange light flickers behind a door.
“The library,” he says.
I spot a fire extinguisher in the kitchen and run to grab it. “Bram.”
He shakes his head. “It’s too dangerous.”
“But—”
“Cassia, go outside and call 999.”
“I don’t have my phone.”
He tosses me his and points toward the windows. “Go. Now!”
Coughing, I run for the doors and burst into the cool summer night. Smoke follows me outside and clouds the air. Sherlock bounds after me and leans sideways against my legs, the poor dog shivering and whimpering.
My clumsy fingers punch the numbers. When I glance back, Bram’s still inside. “Shit.”
I clutch the phone to my ear and run back into the house. Sherlock barks where I left him. Shadows fight the harsh inconstant light of fire.
“999, what’s the emergency?”
“There’s a fire—” I cough “—at Wolfenwold Hall.”
“Where, ma’am?”
“The manor house, in Upper Dicker.”
“Is anyone still inside?”
“I’m trying to find him.”
I stumble through the smoke until I find Bram silhouetted. Flames climb over the bookshelves and crawl along the curtains. The fire extinguisher looks pathetic in his hands, too insignificant to snuff the blaze.
“Bram!”
I grab his arm and drag him backward, but he’s stronger than me. He coughs when he tries to speak, blind desperation glazing his eyes.
“Bram.” I clench the bones in his wrist. “It’s gone.”
Shaking his head, he drops the fire extinguisher. He stares at the burning, for a second, his shoulders rigid as if still has a hope of fighting. As we flee into the night, fire engines speed to meet us, the pandemonium of their sirens whirling in the darkness. Sherlock howls from somewhere in the yew labyrinth.
The inferno leaps from room to room, sparks spiraling high. A paramedic guides us to an ambulance. Shivering under a blanket, I don’t feel anything but cold. Not even as Wolfenwold Hall burns to its bones.
“It’s gone,” I say again.
Flames flicker in Bram’s eyes. “It can’t fucking be gone.”
A paramedic reaches for him as he strides toward Wolfenwold Hall. I run after him, the blanket slipping from my shoulders, but he stops below the doors and tilts back his head and stares. Just stares, his hands empty.
It’s over.
What was never real, what was never anything we could name, is gone forever. The truth bypasses my head and hits me low in the gut.
I turn my back on Bram and walk away into the darkness of the gardens. When the wind blows, rustling leaves mask crackling fire. I inhale the sweet damp smell of moss. My hand drifts over the rosebushes, fingertips touching petals and thorns that prick blood. Sinking onto the grass, I sit with my knees against my chest.
This was never mine. This was never a paradise meant to last.
“Cassia.” Smoke roughens Bram’s voice into a rasp. He kneels and touches my shoulder. “Please don’t go.”
What did I expect him to say?
I stare at the dirt. “I can’t stay.”
“Why?”
“I never meant to hurt you.” My throat chokes up. “But I broke one of our rules.”
He frowns skyward. “Which rule?”
The butterflies in my stomach fly on razor wings. I can’t say this out loud. I can’t admit why I’m so afraid to stay.
But I have to.
Tears spill from my eyes. “No falling in love.”
Bram keeps staring at the sky, hurting me without even touching me. Ice
seeps into my blood and numbs my skin.
Why the fuck did I say anything?
I stand and wipe my hands on my shaking knees. “I’m sorry.”
“Cassia.” When he looks at me, shadows hide his face. “Don’t.” His voice rasps.
“Let me go.”
“Cassia, I—” He clears his throat. “They found scarring in my brain.”
Why is he telling me this now?
“I’m sorry.” I say it again, walking away from him, walking away from the emotions I can’t feel for him. “I’m so sorry.”
He follows me. “Christ, I don’t want you to pity me.”
“Then why the fuck did you tell me that?”
“Because I don’t want to be alone.”
“God, you know that sounds pitiful.”
“Is it?” He catches my arm to stop me. “You should know the truth. I don’t want to hide my epilepsy from you. I don’t—”
“It’s too late.”
His fingers tighten on my arm. “No!”
“Just let me go.”
“No.” It’s quieter this time.
“Please.”
Bram releases me and retreats a step. He speaks barely above a whisper. “Cassia.”
“Goodbye.” Saying it to him feels less than final.
I know that’s a lie.
45
Bram
I don’t know what time her flight leaves, when she abandons England for America.
I stare at my phone and look at the flights from Heathrow to Los Angeles. There are three. One of them has left already, in the early hours of the morning. It’s 4:14 AM, the red numerals stark on the alarm clock by my bed.
Below my window, London traffic rumbles. The sound once lulled me to sleep, but my ears still ring from the quiet of the countryside. The sheets lie undisturbed on my bed. I pace on the carpet, my skin raw with awareness.
I drop onto my bed, clenching fistfuls of my hair, and force myself to inhale.
This doesn’t feel real. Like I can blink myself awake and Wolfenwold Hall will still be there. Cassia will still be there.
Pain claws at my throat. I bend double and try to breathe through it, but it won’t go away. My hands shake against my head. I stare at the clock, a second away from breaking it, but I’m already broken. Christ. I bloody hate crying.
