Page 28 of Unravelling: Aria & Crispin
The family house in Kensington still smelled like roses and old money. Columns and crown moulding, the sparkling crystal chandelier in the foyer. Familiar paintings. Familiar ghosts.
His mother greeted him wearing a soft cashmere shawl, eyes crinkling with delight. "Darling." She beamed, kissing both his cheeks. "You look thin."
"I'm fine, Mom," he said, smiling despite himself. His mom always tried to compensate for his absent, workaholic father.
They sat for lunch in the small dining room, just the two of them and Alice. His father was pulling another all-nighter.
The meal of carrot soup, seared duck, and a white Burgundy she'd been saving for just this occasion felt intimate. They ate informally, sitting on the barstools at the kitchen island. Like always, his mother nudged the conversation towards his future between forkfuls.
"You and Helga seem to get along beautifully," she gushed, watching him over the rim of her glass. "Her mother's very fond of you. And their company is growing, with offices in Bristol, Edinburgh, and Cardiff. It's a sensible match, darling."
Crispin made a noncommittal sound. His mother always said 'match' like she was arranging chess pieces, not lives.
Alice, seated opposite, was quiet as usual, but there was an unusual air of alertness about her. She picked at her duck and chased her peas around her plate with her fork. She'd always been intense underneath the surface, though few outside the family remembered what she'd been like in secondary school, withdrawn and fragile. For nearly a year, she'd barely spoken unless spoken to. Something inside her had shut down completely-until, almost as abruptly, she had shaken whatever was troubling her off like an old skin. And when she'd come back to herself, it was as someone smarter, harder. Unapologetic.
"She's dating someone," his mother continued lightly, dabbing at her mouth, "from Dorian's company. Not quite our circle, of course, but educated, at least."
Alice didn't look up. "He has a name, Mom," she said coolly. "Emilio."
The table fell quiet for half a beat before their mother gave a soft, dismissive laugh. "Of course, darling.Emilio."
Alice met Crispin's eyes, and there was something penetrating in her expression. It was like she was about to throw down the gauntlet.
"Does it matter?" she asked in a strange voice. "Being educated? Having the right pedigree?"
It wasn't just a question. And somehow, Crispin knew she wasn't just talking about Emilio.
Her voice was steady, but there was a deliberate edge behind it.
Like she was asking one thing while meaning another.
Like she was holding up a mirror, waiting to see if he'd look into it or look away.
Crispin felt the gravity of her question, as though he were being tested.
"It helps," he said eventually, his tone mild. "It's easier if someone understands this life and what it involves."
Alice didn't break eye contact. For a moment, her disappointment was plain, almost too naked for a room like this.
She looked back at him for a second longer than necessary before she turned her attention back to her plate. "Right," she murmured.
Their mother carried the conversation forward like nothing had happened. Crispin said little. Something about the afternoon left a sour taste in his mouth.
The days passed. Crispin didn't call Aria.
He didn't message her, didn't walk by her café or ask her for her shift schedule like he usually did. He imagined her walking home in the rain, imagined the way she wrinkled her nose when she concentrated. He wondered if she was thinking about him, if she missed him. If she saw the photos of him and Helga, arm in arm at the gala, and felt anything.
Jealousy? Anger?
Was she telling herself this was what she expected from him?
He told himself it wasn't betrayal. He hadn't lied, he hadn't promised anything. They had both gone into this with their eyes wide open.
But each time he turned away from his phone, each time he checked her chat window and closed it without typing anything, he felt that tight sensation in his chest get worse.
He showered twice a day. Slept less, ate even less. Smiled that close-lipped, practised smile.
Something was fraying at the edge of him, he just wasn't sure what it was yet.
