Page 67 of The Consequence of You
Rossi looks away from me and addresses his boss.
“I’ve encouraged her to rest since the attack. The doctor said she has some bruising and the cut on her neck should heal without an obvious scar. She’s prescribed her some antibiotics in case of an infection, but she said it’s unlikely. Dr Cante also left some Arnica which Callie needs to apply twice a day. It’s the Christmas break, so she can take it easy for a further three weeks without missing any university lectures.”
“Femare!”
The wordstopis out of my mouth before I can help it.
I’ve had enough. I know they care, but I’m right here,and my father could ask me directly if he’s concerned about how I am.
The three men stay silent and stare at me like I’m broken. I let out a slow exhale, knowing I shouldn’t take it out on them. My frustration is not with them. It’s at myself.
“I appreciate your concern, Papa. But I’m fine. Rossi and Luca have taken good care of me.”
“And the boy?”
My breath catches at his question.
“What boy?”
“The duke’s son.”
“He’s not a boy. He’s a grown man. What about him?”
“It sounds as though it was lucky he was there.”
For a second, I thought he somehow knew about my feelings for Asher. Of course, he’s talking about him protecting me yesterday.
“Yes, it was,” I concede.
“He also volunteers at the residential home?”
Nodding, I hope this will be the end of the questioning, and that my father doesn’t ask me anything else about him.
“You are friends?”
“No. We’re not.” It’s the truth. We are… were… fuck. No matter what I tell myself, until late last night, we were so much more than that. My mouth dries.
Crossing the kitchen, I pour myself a coffee. My father takes that as the end of the conversation and moves on to catching up on business with Luca.
Silently, I observe them. They have a closeness with each other I will never have with either of them again. It’s of my own doing, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. I swallow a lump in my throat.
Christmas day comes and goes. The week that follows is quiet.
I finish off some coursework, and I draw. I get out my old art supplies and I set them up on my desk. I lose whole days sketching. Pictures of Mama and Luca. Of Papa. All of them, years younger, when we were still a family. For every picture I draw of my family, I draw two more of Asher. It doesn’t take long to fill an entire sketchbook. Asher smiling, Asher’s lust filled gaze, Asher laughing, playing chess with Mr Charles. Sketches of Asher which do nothing but remind me of every feeling I’m fighting to ignore.
It’s been over a week since I saw him, and I miss him.
I miss him so damn much. I miss the feel of his heated mouth on mine. I miss the way he’s able to read me in a way no one else can. I miss how he would ask me something but never push me to answer him when I deflected with another question. I miss his ribbing. His teasing. His smug smile when he would catch me checking him out. I miss it all.
Asher Pennington isn’t the man I thought he was. Yes, he’s entitled, cocky and has an ego the size of this house. But he’s also kind, brave and sensitive. He’s attentive and gentle.
Asher is going to make someone a good boyfriend one day. It just won’t be me.
Today is New Years’ eve, and in the early hours of tomorrow morning, it will be four years since the nightthat Mama was killed. It’s a stark reminder of why I can’t give in to my feelings, no matter how much I want to.
Asher made it seem so simple the last time I saw him. He talked about living, allowing myself to feel it all. To be in love. But I can’t. I made a promise to myself in the days that followed Mama’s death that I wouldn’t ever fall in love, or let feelings like lust cloud my decisions, ever again. That I would always think about the repercussions of my actions.
I was so sure I was doing the right thing.
