“Do you ever feel threatened by your father?” he added softly.
“No, he’s not like you.”
He let out a long sigh. “You have no idea how true that statement is.”
“How many of your victims have you brought here for dinner?”
“Victim is such a passive word. Wouldn’t you rather call yourself a survivor?”
“That all depends on if I survive.”
“I know this is difficult for you, but have I not treated you well?” He reached for his champagne flute.
“Ask me this again after you’ve let me go.”
He sipped the golden bubbles in his glass. “Trust me, I’m counting the hours until you’re out of my life.”
“What do you hope to achieve? We’ve established it’s not money. What do you want?”
“I want you to open up to me.”
“Make me.” I let that tease linger.
“Careful,” he said darkly.
“I could scream.”
“But you won’t.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“Yes, because I know how much you love your brother.”
A silver tray of oysters was brought over and set down between us. Cassius eased a couple onto his plate.
“Your sister has lovely taste in clothes. I bet I’d like her. Why don’t we invite her over for dinner?” It was worth a try.
He looked thoughtful. “She’s not in town.”
“Where does she live?”
“Try an oyster.” He lifted one of the half-shells off the platter and lay it on my plate.
The shell was pretty, and it seemed sad to just throw it away afterward.
“When was the last time you talked with your parents?” I ran a fingertip around the shell. “When was the last time you saw your mom?”
His brow furrowed as he recalled. “Fourteen years ago. It was a Tuesday, and it had rained that morning. She was lying in my arms, barely able to talk. You’ve never really experienced fear until you watched someone struggling for their next breath, unable to take it. She bled out from a bullet wound and died in my arms.” He lifted the oyster shell to his mouth and swallowed it with ease. “Unless you count the time afterward when I saw her lying on a metal slab in the morgue.”
“Cassius.” My voice was quiet, body still, too afraid to move.
He pointed at the remaining oysters. “Want another?”
My flesh chilled with a terrible realization—a hunch so raw I refused to believe it. “Who did that to her?”
“Make sure you squeeze some lemon first. It complements the taste.”
Unable to move, or think, or even take a full breath, awash with fear.
He lifted one of the half-shells and brought it to my lips. Opening my mouth, I let him slide in the mollusk as though guilt wouldn’t let me refuse him anything. I swallowed it with difficulty, my throat still tight. Cassius reached up and curled his finger to catch a teardrop on my cheek.
He handed me the flute of champagne. “Here.”
I took the glass from him but was unable to drink. I placed it down and reached for my napkin and dabbed my mouth. Then used the corner to wipe away another tear.
Cassius offered me another oyster.
I raised my hand in refusal, watching him take another shell and savor the food as though he’d not just confessed the worst day of his existence. He ate as though his heart had not been broken.
As though his soul had not been mortally injured.
He wiped his hands on a napkin and pushed it aside.
“You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?” I hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
He reached over, and his fingers trailed through my locks and then clutched them at my nape. His chestnut irises flashed with searing passion.
The people slipped away. The thrum of noise dimming. All that mattered was this moment. This connection between us blocked out every other sensation. This sense that no matter what had gone before, there was a sliver of possibility he’d come to change his mind about me.
Yet. . .
He hadn’t denied it, hadn’t told me that no way would he ever hurt me or that the gesture of his affection was meant as something else.
I pulled away.
“Up,” he said, throwing cash onto the table. “Quickly.”
We were moving fast. He’d wrapped his arm around my waist, directing me away from our table and shoving me through the kitchen door. Both of us were barely bumping into staff, who threw frustrated glances our way as we continued.
Glancing back through the window of the kitchen door, I saw my father peering in at us, his face aghast.
Stephen shoved the door open.
He was following, rounding the stark metal counters as he chased us.
We were out of there and moving fast along a hallway. I tried to dig my heels in, but with Cassius’s strength, it was impossible to resist the gravity of his pull.
He stopped in front of a closet, and then after opening the door, pulled me inside and shut it behind us. He maneuvered behind me, his chest pressed to my back, his palm firmly against my mouth to prevent me from crying out. I bit down on his palm, but he just cupped my mouth harder.