Chapter 72 You promised
I’ve been staring at the same paragraph for five minutes, the words blurring into a gray smudge. I'm acutely, painfully aware of Kaden’s presence on the leather sofa behind me. I can hear the rustle of his clothes, the occasional sigh, the shift of his weight...
We finished eating, then wandered through the house because Kaden wanted a tour and apparently I’m incapable of denying him anything lately. We walked through hallways lined with old artwork and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the vineyards. Through the library. The indoor courtyard. Past rooms I rarely even step into anymore.
I take a slow sip of my whiskey, the burn a welcome distraction. I’d only managed one glass of wine in the kitchen, Kaden had essentially annexed the rest, and now I need the sharp edge of whiskey to keep my focus. I glance over my shoulder, wondering if he’s finally drifted off. He hasn't. I’m painfully aware of him. Every shift. Every breath. Every restless little movement.
As if he can feel the weight of my eyes on him, he turns his head toward me. "Are you done yet?" he asks, his voice laced with a restless, impatient edge. I almost smile.
"Not yet," I mutter, swallowing hard. I force my eyes back to the documents. This is untread ground. I don't do overnight guests. "You should go to sleep, Kaden. It’s late."
There’s a long silence. I expect to hear him settle back into the cushions, but instead, the couch groans. I glance up to see him standing. For a second, I think he’s actually taking my advice, heading for the guest wing to end this strange, taxing night.
But instead of leaving, he walks over to the desk and drops into one of the chairs across from me. He taps his foot restlessly against the hardwood floor.
One minute passes, then another.Then...
“Is there something going on between you and your driver?”
The pen slips. I freeze, my brow furrowing as I slowly lift my head to look at him. I’m completely thrown. Kaden’s face is dead serious, he’s watching me with a sharp intensity.
“What?”
He shrugs like he didn’t just say the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard in my life.
“You and George.”
I stare at him, waiting for the joke, but it never comes. "What on earth led you to such an absurd conclusion?"
"So there’s nothing? At all?"
"Of course there isn’t," I snap, a mental image of George....stoic, graying, and perpetually disappointed, flashing through my mind. I actually feel a physical shiver of protest. The man’s like a hundred years old.
Technically, he’s forty-two, but in the universe of my desires, he might as well be an ancient monument. There's no reality, no timeline, where that would ever be a possibility. I study Kaden’s face, "What made you ask that?"
He shrugs, looking away. "Nothing."
"That’s obviously not true," I say flatly. "You don’t just randomly assume I’m secretly involved with my chauffeur."
He leans back slightly in the chair. "Well, I’m just choosing not to share, " he casually explains, his voice taking on a defiant tilt. He looks back at me, his eyes challenging, "Doesn’t seem fair for me to be the only one expected to act like an open book around here."
I let out a soft sigh and glance back down at the spreadsheets. He’s too inquisitive. That’s the problem. That’s exactly why we ended up in here in the first place. Why I told him earlier I could only work in silence. Because silence is easier than explaining. Silence doesn’t pry. Doesn’t ask questions about parts of myself locked down so tightly I can barely access them myself anymore.
I don't respond. I just take another sip of whiskey and try to retreat into the numbers. But Kaden isn't done. He stands up again, the chair screeching against the floor, and walks around the desk until he’s on my side.
My skin starts humming, a current of awareness vibrating through my limbs. He stops right next to me, leaning his hip against the edge of the desk, looming over me until it’s impossible to pretend he’s not there. I set my pen down right in the middle of a half-signed contract and look up at him.
"Do you need something, Kaden?"
"I told Josie I was with you," he says, his voice flat, "The first thing she said was that I’m fucking crazy."
My gaze lingers on the stubborn set of his jaw. 'She’s probably right,' I think. Anyone with a grain of self-preservation would have run a mile in the opposite direction the moment I stepped into their life.
"Why were you emancipated?" he asks. It’s the second time he’s thrown the question at me, and it lands with the same weight.
I feel the familiar tightening in my chest, the instinctive urge to shutter the windows and bolt the doors of my history. "Kaden, quit it," I say, my voice warning.
"That’s my question, Bastian," he counters, leaning further over the desk, his eyes locking onto mine. "From our deal earlier. You said anything."
I swallow hard. I’d known that open-ended promise would come back to haunt me, but I didn't think he’d use it to dig into the one grave I’ve spent thirteen years trying to keep unmarked. I shake my head. "Ask something else."
"That’s not how it works," he says, his voice rising with a touch of frustration. "You promised."
"I don't care," my tone hardens into something cold and final. "Ask something else, or ask nothing at all."
He glares down at me, looking genuinely pissed. The air between us sours, the playful tension from the kitchen evaporating into something harsh. "George warned me earlier," he says suddenly.
I frown, my internal alarms going off. "What?"
"He told me some shit about intervening if he felt I was hurting you. Or taking advantage of you." He scoffs, a sharp, disbelieving sound. "Like I’m the predator in this situation."
I feel a flash of genuine irritation. I’m already planning the one-on-one I’m going to have with George tomorrow morning...a conversation that will likely involve me reminding him exactly whose payroll he’s on. "Why would he assume I'd hurt you?" Kaden asks, searching my face.
"That’s his job," I say curtly. "He’s paid to be paranoid. But I’ll speak with him."
"Don't bother "
He glances around the study, his eyes trailing over the leather-bound books and the cold art, appearing deep in thought. Then, he looks back at me, his voice low and distractedly hollow. "Maybe I should’ve just gone home earlier."
The words hit me like a physical blow. I don’t like that...not at all. A strange, uncomfortable sensation settles in my gut. Disappointment? No, that’s too mild. Sadness? Fucking hell...I don't do sad.
But the idea of him leaving, of the house returning to its silent, sterile perfection, feels like a loss I’m not prepared for.
I want to tell him to stop being so inquisitive. I want to tell him that knowing about my emancipation won't change anything, that whatever this is between us doesn't warrant a key to my past. But then I remember the first time I saw him. The unquenchable, obsessive thirst I had to know every detail of his life before I’d even heard his voice. I had the resources to strip him bare without his permission. Kaden doesn't have that. His only source is me.
He stands up straight, his shadow lengthening across my desk. “I’m gonna go sleep.” My eyes lift back to him immediately. “Goodnight,” he adds. Then after a beat, “I might ask Josie to come pick me up early tomorrow morning, so, if we don’t see each other before then...” His shoulders lift slightly. “Bye.”
I scoff, shaking my head as I lean back in my chair. "You’ve got quite the flair for the dramatics, don't you?"
He gives me a sharp, leveling look.
"I refuse to answer one question," I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm, "and suddenly you’re acting like I’ve exiled you from the country. Talking about having your friend drive countless miles at dawn just so you can run off into the sunrise."