Page 60 of A Winding Wave of Magic
“Nothing.”
“That feels…false.”
His eyes met mine with oddly potent force. “You’ve done nothing, Cassandra. I’m sorry. My mother…she is gone, and I don’t get on with my father. And I don’t enjoy talking about it either. Surely you can understand that.”
The shadows from the candlelight flickered long and lean, exacerbating the hollows of his cheeks.
I nodded slowly. “Yes. I do.”
His mouth twisted as he reached across the table and gave my hand a tentative pat. In spite of the leather, empathy and pity skittered up through my wrist and elbow. Jonathan, however, appeared to be no more affected than the tablecloth.
Suddenly, I felt ridiculous in my done-up hair and makeup. What was I trying to do here? Stage some hilarious seduction with eyeliner and a pretty dress? And for what? To ignore my broken, grieving heart?
I was more than pathetic. I was a stereotype.
I pulled my hand back and drained the rest of my wine. I was getting tired of this man’s hot and cold moods, bouts of stonewalling followed by half-hearted pity. I was getting tired of him, period. Better he just finished what he came here to do, and we could move our separate ways. I’d return to Boston, and he’d go back to…wherever he came from.
“I think you were right before,” I said. “Let’s not waste time. Why did you want to meet for dinner?”
He narrowed his eyes a moment before reaching down to retrieve a manila envelope from his briefcase.
“Another will?”
“Not quite,” he replied. “My instructions from Penny are quite clear. Upon your receipt of the will, I am to give you this. And then I am to act as the executor as it moves through probate, and escort you to Seattle to confer with your mother.”
“That’s really not necessary. I can drive there myself if she wants it, though I doubt she will. If she cared in the first place, she would already be here.”
The words had a bitter taste. I hadn’t realized how angry I was about the truth until I’d said it out loud. But that was what families did in time like this, wasn’t it? Gathered and mourned. Shared in each other’s grief.
My mother hadn’t even done that after my father died. I didn’t know why even a part of me hoped she would change now.
Jonathan seemed willing to wait for me to sort out my thoughts.
“My mother and I don’t talk much,” I said quietly. “She can come here if she wants the house, and you can mail her the documents, can’t you? I need to get back to Boston, and I’m sure you’ve got more important things to attend to back in…wherever you live.”
“Rome,” he offered easily, to my surprise. “And no, I don’t have anything else more important than this.Youare my first priority at the moment.”
Something in me tingled when he said that. I looked down and realized I’d leaned access the table towards him.
I sat back.
“And,” Jonathan continued, “you are supposed to go see your mother. Penny was quite clear.”
“Well, Penny’s dead, isn’t she?”
He flinched, and for the first time, I saw some indication that he was mourning too. That he told the truth—they had been close, in some way.
For some reason, the fact of their relationship made me even angrier. I shook my head, causing a few errant strands of black hair to fall beside my cheeks. That felt more like me than I had since leaving the house: hair in my face, all too ruffle-able.
“We can drive up to Seattle tomorrow,” he went on like I hadn’t just snapped at him. “I’ll schedule your flight back to Boston from there.”
I gulped and nodded. He was tenacious and clearly used to getting his way. I didn’t have the energy to argue anymore.
As soon as the plates arrived, Jonathan immediately slid them both to his side of the table.
“What are you doing?”
“Testing for poison.”
