Page 49 of Twisted Kings

“What? How do you know this?”

“Because he’s asked my father to pass on a message via me. Seeing as how we’re friends and you’re not taking his calls.”

There was a long pause. I moved over to the bed while waiting for him to reply. Outside, the giant Norwegian pine trees Dad had paid some decorating company to decorate glittered with pretty lights. Setting the scene for Dad’s New Year’s Eve party held every year. The party he’d expect me to attend.

“Dad invited your father and Ekaterina for dinner the other night, along with a few other people. Ekaterina told me she misses you and can’t wait to see you again for some overdue‘family time’.” It was probably unwise to taunt Kyril, but being stuck here in this mausoleum had left me feeling rather unhinged. “Anyway, he told me to find out where you were, so he could let your father know.”

“My father can go fuck himself. I’m busy and it’s Christmas.”

“Not in the mood for a family reunion?” I joked.

“Only if it involves me sticking that bitch with a carving knife.”

I chuckled. “She tried it on with me. I threatened her, and she soon backed off.”

“Eta yebanaya cyka!” he growled, and I heard something smash in the background.

“Hey, calm down!”

“Sorry. She just… really makes me want to kill someone. Preferably her.”

“I get it.” And I did. What she did to Kyril was disgusting. No boy should have to deal with a woman like that. I couldn’t decide who was worse: Vasily for ignoring the predatory nature of his wife, or Lan’s father for pushing him to sleep with women twice his age so the old bastard could further his business connections.

Both of them made me sick.

Was it any wonder the three of us had bonded? Milo’s father wouldn’t win a ‘Father of the Year’ award, but at least he cared enough to get his son help when he fucked up.

“How’s everyone doing?” By everyone I meant Thea, only I was too chicken to ask directly.

“She’s doing OK,” Kyril replied with a trace of amusement in his voice. “Want to talk to her?”

“No.” He sighed.

“She wasn’t trying to hurt you,” he reminded me. “In fact, she did everything to avoid hurting you. The drugs got destroyed, remember? She had no idea there was a camera in the room, and she’s been the target of most of the online hate about the sex tape, not you or Lan.”

“I realize that,” I grunted, not wanting to get into it right now. My head hurt and I desperately needed a good night’s sleep. Christmas was in three fucking days, which meant Dad would wheel me out as his precious son and heir. Christmas was supposed to be about family, but invariably we spent the holidays entertaining guests. None of them were people I gave a shit about.

The one saving grace was that Camilla would be blessedly absent this year and I wouldn’t have to deal with her wandering hands or flagrant disregard for my personal boundaries. Or turn a blind eye while my father flirted with some underage waitress hired to serve drinks and canapés.

“You should come to Ireland for Christmas,” I heard Milo say in the background.

“Milo says he’ll send you the address.”

“You know I can’t leave here.” Dad had made it abundantly clear I was under house arrest until the new semester in January.To avoid any more problematic stories in the press. “I have to play dutiful son.”

“Since when do you care about what your father wants?”

“Since he threatened to send Mom back to the Highgate Clinic.” I wandered back over to the window to see Dad’s car pulling out of the garage. Where was he disappearing so late at night? I frowned.

“Bring her with you. You can both spend Christmas here.”

“Hilarious.”

“I mean it, Cass. Declan says we can stay here as long as we like. He has no plans for the house.”

I flopped down on the armchair next to the window. Last Christmas, Lan and I flew to Verbier for New Year. We stayed in my parents’ chalet and partied for a week with the ski crowd.Fun times.

Christmas in Ireland would be nice, plus Dad was supposedly on good terms with Seamus Kelly, so he could hardly complain if I stayed in one of Declan Kelly’s properties. Ireland was cold and wet, but free of my father’s suffocating presence.

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