Page 1 of Let Me
ONE
Present
I DON’T EXPECT to seeherhere, and when I do, it takes all of the self-control I possess not to shove her up against the wall and start screaming in her face. Not to take that fucking black silk top and rip it to shreds, yank her long hair back and ask her what the fuck she thinks she’s doing.
But I don’t do that.
Because this is my parents’ house, and this is a party with far too many eyes and ears. And I’ve been wanting to hurt Riley Larson for three long, miserable years and I’m not going to blow my chance now. Instead, I run a hand down my black blazer and tear my eyes away from her down in the foyer below, hugging my dad as if she isn’t responsible for my younger brother’s death every bit as much as the bullet that went through his skull.
I clench my hands into fists and stalk down the hall. The hall I grew up on, withhim. This whole house makes me feel like I’m drowning in memories of Jack, and I don’t know how my parents stand it. But they refuse to move. They could buy any house they wanted in Toronto, and they choose to stay in this mansion full of trauma.
I don’t know who the fuck invited her here, either, because I made it very clear she was not welcome anywhere near me the last time I saw her. Not that I’ve spoken to her since then. Not since she was just eighteen, in her last year of high school, and Jack was too, already offered a full ride to half a dozen schools on a basketball scholarship. But only one of them made it to graduation. Three years, and I’ve finished law school. Started a business. I’ve got six years on top of her twenty-one but as I glance at a photo of Jack lining the hall—curly brown hair, hazel eyes, that beautiful smile on his face—I swear to God I’m going to give her a weight of suffering so immense she’ll be begging for an early death.
But I’ve said that before.
It was easier when I knew she was in the States. I could put her out of my mind. Now, she’s fucking here. In the house Jack died in.
“Caden, why don’t you come down?”
I turn around and see my mother watching me, shadows beneath her eyes. She’s beautiful, she’s always been beautiful, but those shadows haven’t left since Jack died.
“Ma, I will, I’m just—”
“I’m sorry,” she says quietly, closing the space between us, the marble clicking under her heels. Her hair is a lot like Jack’s, curly and brown, now piled up in an elaborate braid on top of her head. She takes my hands, her red nails glistening in the chandelier overhead. There are way too many fucking chandeliers in this house. “I’m sorry about Riley, but—” she looks down and I know what she’s going to say before she says it, “—Dad wanted her here.”
I take a breath and let go of her hands, biting my lip for a second. When I meet her gaze, it’s likesheknows what I’m going to say before I say it, because she flinches before I even speak.
“Has Dad always wanted to fuck her?”
But my mother is no shrinking violet. She backhands me across the face so hard, I swear the entire house goes silent for a second. I put a hand to my cheek, and marvel at the fact that at twenty-seven years old, I’m still getting slapped by my mother, and Riley Larson is floating around our house without a goddamn care in the world.
“If you ever speak to me like that again, Caden Virani, I will—”
“What?” I interrupt, angrier now. My hand falls to my side, closes in a fist. “You’llwhat, Ma? You know she shouldn’t be here. You know this was her fucking fault!” I slam my fist below the picture of Jack, and it falls to the floor, glass shattering on the white marble tiles.
For a moment, all I can do is stare at his face. At the suit he wore for graduation photos. A graduation he never got to attend. I see the shattered glass but then it blurs, and I hear the phone call, and I see Riley Larson watching me with wide green eyes as I get the news while I’m withher, while just a moment before my mouth was onhers, and my hands were fuckingall over her, because she played us both. She played us both, and in the end, my brother got fucked the most.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” I say, bending down to pick up the glass.
She stops me with a hand on my arm. “I’ll send Matthew up.” I meet her gaze and nod, and she helps me to my feet. I’m over six feet tall and she’s barely 5’5” in stilettos, but I feel like right now, she’s holding me up.
After a moment, I turn from her, and she drops her hand, and I walk in the guest bathroom on the hall. I sink to the floor, my head back against the door.
I’m going to make Riley Larson suffer for everything she ever did to my brother. To me. My family. And I don’t give a damn if I’ve got to shatter more glass to do it. She’s going to get what she deserves.
TWO
Present
WHEN I HEAR the glass shatter, I know without seeing it that it’s about me. I know, because before his dad could pull me into a too-tight hug, I saw Caden standing at the railing above their foyer, murder in his eyes.
Even from such a distance, I could see the blue irises, knew the flecks of silver. His hair was shorter than the last time I saw him, dark blonde and cut close, showing off the hard lines and angles in his angry, beautiful face.
But then his dad is on me, and Caden turns away and stalks down the hallway and I feel genuine regret at coming. I didn’twantto come. But Rolland Virani, one of the richest men in Toronto, can be very convincing. Tonight, for his annual summer party, one he throws for the fuck of it, he convinced me to be here.
His hands slide down my black pants and he whispers in my ear, “You should’ve worn a dress, darling.”
He’s probably right. It’s late July and hot as hell outside. But I don’t like dresses.
