Page 42 of Intolerable
She put the cover back on the box. “This is the best gift I’ve ever received.”
“I’m glad.” Constantine touched her arm. “It can’t make up for the years in which I’ve been a lousy brother, but it’s my promise to you that I will do better.”
“I know losing her was hard for you too.” She realized he had smiled—and laughed—more when she was a child. Before their mother had died.
His answering smile was sad. “I blamed myself for a long time, and maybe I always will. If I hadn’t been away at school, perhaps I could have prevented what happened. That damned surgeon—” He cut himself off, looking away and dropping his hand from her arm. “Sorry.”
“Enough of that,” Lucien said. “There’s nothing any of us could have done. She was ill, and Father, despite his vast imperfections, tried to provide her with the best care.”
Cassandra started to shake. It was impossible to have this conversation and not think of the surgeon bleeding her. And thoughts of that, well… She suddenly wished for Wexford’s comforting arms. He understood her fear, and he could ease her pain.
Thankfully, Constantine diverted the conversation. “And none of that excuses my self-absorption and general aloofness. I’d put up a wall so tall that I couldn’t see over it, let alone allow you to see me.”
“Sabrina has been so good for you,” Cassandra said.
“Love can change everything,” he said softly. “If you let it.” He glanced toward Lucien, who blinked and held up his hands.
“What?” Lucien looked between then them. “I love both of you.”
Cassandra let out a light laugh and looked back to Constantine who only shook his head with a gentle smile.
Lucien gave her an earnest look. “We promise to be better brothers, and that includes not allowing Father to choose your husband.”
“Yes,” Constantine agreed. “If you wanted to marry Wexford, we’d ensure you could.”
“Er, no.” Lucien snapped his mouth closed. It was as if he’d been unable to contain himself.
Constantine turned his head toward Lucien. “I don’t understand your objection.”
“He’s just…not ready to marry. He has some rule that he won’t wed until he’s thirty.”
“Does he?” Cassandra hadn’t known that. What was the purpose of this rule? She had so many questions, and she was already plotting how she might find answers.
“Yes. Apparently.” Lucien shifted uncomfortably, which spoke volumes because he nearly always appeared at ease. It was annoying, actually.
“You know why?” Cassandra asked.
Lucien lifted a shoulder. “Just that he doesn’t think he’ll know his mind until then. Anyway, he’s not courting you. Glastonbury is, however, isn’t he?”
“I suppose. Mildly,” she added. “He indicated he’d call again this week.”
“Wexford is smart for wanting to know himself,” Constantine said. “Don’t marry someone because you think you must.”
“It turned out well for you,” Cassandra observed. “You and Sabrina seem quite happy now.”
“Now.” Constantine’s hazel eyes, so like their mother’s, crinkled at the edges. “However, it wasn’t easy. The key, actually, is to be honest about your feelings and your expectations. If you communicate what you want and hope for, you’ll get on much better.”
That was all well and good if you knew what you wanted. Cassandra wasn’t sure she did, other than she wanted to kiss Wexford again. Then maybe she wouldknow…
Lucien gestured toward the door. “We should get back to the party.”
“Yes.” Cassandra drew a deep breath. “Thank you so much for this gift. I will cherish it—and both of you.”
She hugged them tightly, first Constantine and then Lucien. “Oh, I want one more thing for my birthday.”
“Name it,” Constantine said.
“I want to play hide and seek after dinner.”
