Within the kitchen, I again found Cassius with his head in a book. He’d seemingly been waiting for me.
He looked up at me. “You look presentable, at least.”
Yawning, I said, “It’s not like we’re going out.”
“Actually, we are.”
Sometimes, like now, Cassius was hard to read. It took me a few seconds to work out that he wasn’t joking.
“What? As some kind of punishment?” I bit out.
“Time will tell.”
That wasn’t scary at all.
“What are you reading?” I asked. “It must be good if you can’t put it down.”
He flipped the cover for me to read the title of “Beyond Order.” Flipping it back to look at the cover himself. “Jordan B. Peterson. It’s pretty good.” He set it down on the kitchen counter.
Maybe I’d read it, too. His collection of books were a lot like this one, seemingly heavy and full of soul-searching.
“First, I need to give you something.” He smirked as he reached inside a drawer. He was holding sunglasses and carried them over to me and slid them onto my face. “I’m not a complete asshole.”
I rolled my eyes beneath the shades in a snarky—that remains to be seen.
“Careful,” he chastised.
He gestured for me to follow him out of the house to where he’d parked his BMW.
“How many cars do you own?”
He glanced over. “Two. This and the SUV.”
I shrugged. “We have three.”
“Seeing as you live here now, you own nothing.”
I tried to pull away.
He grabbed my arm. “Not so fast. Where do you think you’re going?”
“Why did you say that?” I huffed.
“Isn’t the answer obvious?”
“Not to me.”
“I like to fuck with you.”
With a jolt of my arm, I shifted him off me. “I’m not going.”
He lowered his sunglasses. “I wasn’t giving you a choice, Anya. Get in.”
The glare of the sun hit me, and I squinted behind the shades.
The click of the doors locking echoed in my ears. A reminder that me trying to escape from this car wasn’t going to happen.
Within minutes we were driving away from his home and heading fast toward the city. Peering out my side window, I couldn’t help but obsess over everything I saw, as though soon I’d be locked away again and all of this would be out of reach. From the ancient oak trees with their branches stretching wide to the lush moss hanging off them, providing a dreamy view.
“How’s your head?” he broke the silence.
“Oh, you care?”
“Believe it or not, yes.”
“It’s fine.”
“Fine? Never a good word. Are you nauseated?”
“No.”
“I’m impressed.” He glanced over at me. “Most people can’t move, let alone want to eat the next day after the way you acted last night.”
“You have no right to lecture me.”
“I’m the only person who’s ever paid attention to you.”
“That’s not true.” It kind of was true.
Though Archie was there for me when I needed him. We didn’t always get along or see eye to eye, but as we’d gotten older, we’d grown closer. We also realized how much we needed each other. I wondered how much Dad and Mom had shared with him about where I’d gone.
“Other than your brother,” he piped up as though reading my mind.
I kept my eyes on the road so as not to give away our secret. The one we’d been forbidden to share. The one that would give away that our bloodlines were different from our parents.
All I got out of Cassius after that were looks of disapproval and the occasional shake of his head.
We parked on Chartres Street and headed off on foot to walk through the French Quarter. I looked around to see if bolting was a good idea or even possible. He’d be faster than me, but if I ran into a store, I might just escape. Trying to judge how far I’d get before he caught me.
My stomach churned as I mulled over what my punishment was to prevent me from ever drinking again. We turned onto Decatur Street, and that was when he took my hand and held it tight.
Okay, this was super weird and totally unexpected. . .
We looked like we were going into Café Du Monde, a place I’d always wanted to visit but had never been allowed. It stung that as his prisoner, I was actually getting to go out more than ever before.
We settled at a corner table as though we were merely two friends having an early Sunday breakfast. At nine in the morning, the place was quiet with just a few tourists trickling in. I assumed as the day went on it became busier.
Within minutes, a waitress brought us our order of two mugs filled with café au lait and a plate full of white powdered beignets.
Cassius placed one on a plate and slid it my way. “Best hangover cure I know.”
I lifted the small pastry and took a bite, and my eyes nearly rolled into the back of my head at the doughnut’s consistency that melted on my tongue and the sudden buzz from its powdered sugar. “Oh, my God,” I said, covering my half-filled mouth.