It took us a little while to put ourselves back together. Getting me cleaned up with Caspian’s pocket square. Buttoning my shirt with tangled fingers. We abandoned my bowtie entirely in the end—it was beyond either of us but, since it was after midnight, I could get away with leaving it rakishly undone.
We snuck through the house hand in hand, as ridiculous as schoolkids playing hooky. I wouldn’t normally have cared what people thought, but Trudy had been super nice to me and I wasn’t sure how she’d feel about me defiling her firstborn in the family folly. I mean, it was one thing to be vaguely aware your son was having sex. Quite another to be faced with the rumpled, glaze-eyed evidence of it.
Caspian left me in a corner of the entrance hall while he went to have the car brought round. Looking back at the evening was like looking through some kind of weird distorting lens. It was hard to believe the end was connected to the middle or any part of it followed from the next. I tried to hold on to all the new faces, string together the conversations in which I’d been an active participant but, the truth was, I barely remembered anything that wasn’t Caspian. His strange behavior. And then all the wonderful things he’d said to me and done to me in the garden.
I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes for a moment. Soaked in happiness like a warm bath.
And then a voice said, “You’re not helping him, you know.”
Which comprehensively trashed my mood.
Nathaniel Priest was standing over me. De-masked. All tall and gilded and severe. A sculpture from a classical pantheon. God of justice maybe.
“Uh, what?” Not exactly the cutting response I wanted but it was the best I could manage.
“If you care for him at all, you’ll stop this.”
“Um, stop what? Seeing Caspian?”
“What you’re doing with him.” Something flickered in Nathaniel’s expression. A tinge of discomfort. Embarrassment?
And that was when I knew he’d…oh God…he’d seen us. Outrage crashed down on me. And then just this sad exposed feeling that someone who wouldn’t understand had shoved their way into something beautiful and personal and special to me. My mouth opened and closed a few times as I tried to find my way to a response.
Nathaniel’s expression softened. “Look, Aidan—”
“Arden,” I snapped.
But he pressed on as if I hadn’t interrupted. “I’m sure you think what you’re doing is harmless. But it isn’t.”
“Yeah.” Somehow I didn’t punch him right in his smug face. “Thanks for the safe, sane, and consensual lecture but Caspian isn’t hurting me and I have no intention of hurting him.”
Nathaniel gazed at me with all this…patronizing fucking sadness in his honey-gold eyes. “Except you are.”
“How?” I should have known better than to let him draw me. But: too late now.
“He’s smoking again, for a start.”
I pulled off a truly Ellery-worthy eye roll. “One cigarette a month is hardly going to kill him.”
“Is that what he told you? And you believed him?”
Now that I thought about it…he did tend to reach for his cigarettes once we’d sexed. And he’d smoked after dinner. And during Star Wars. And just now in the garden. Oh fuck. Fuuuuuck.
Nathaniel was shaking his head at me. “You poor, sweet boy. You don’t know him at all, do you?”
“I…I’m in love with him,” I said, in the world’s smallest voice.
“I can see why you’d believe that. Caspian can be quite dazzling when he chooses. But you don’t understand anything about who he is. Or the damage you’re doing to him.”
I tried to reply…to protest…to defend myself. Defend him. Defend us. But I had nothing. Caspian had de-clawed me with his secrets. Left me powerless and alone.
“You deserve better,” Nathaniel went on softly. “He’s using you like his cigarettes. You might feel good in the moment, but you’re bad for him. And don’t think he doesn’t know that. He won’t forgive you for what you’d turn him into.”
His gazed at me. I probably looked horrified. But he was serene, his eyes unflinching, full of the fires of the just and the true. I gathered up the ashes of my anger. “Maybe,” I retorted, my voice ricocheting off too much marble, “what I’m turning him into is someone happy with who he is.”
For a moment, I thought maybe I’d struck him back. That he wouldn’t have an answer for me this time. He even turned and started walking away. But I guess he wanted to pose, as he paused and threw over his shoulder: “He’s not looking for happiness, Arden. He’s looking for redemption.”
I shouted “Fuck you” at his back.
But it was a storm of paper arrows. Nothing but bravado.
* * *
We were quiet on the ride to One Hyde Park. Mostly because my mouth felt like Pandora’s box and I was sure only horrible stuff would come flying out if I opened it. Caspian was looking out of the window, the lights and shadows of the city dancing across the perfect sculpture of his face.
In the end, unable to bear the silence, I hit upon the cunning notion of pretending to be asleep. Except it somehow slipped into something very close to real sleep. And I was only sludgily aware of Caspian carrying me up to the apartment. Undressing me. Ineptly sponging away my butterfly wings when I had cleanser for God’s sake. And then tucking me in. As he bent over me to kiss me, I caught his wrist.
“What happened tonight?”
He froze. “Oh, you know how it is. Families are always difficult.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I suppose”—He sat down on the edge of the bed, hands folded together, locked into stillness—“this evening stirred up the past a little.”
“How?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
I’d thought I wasn’t angry anymore. Apparently I was wrong. “You fucked off and left me in the middle of a party and I have no idea why. You don’t get to tell me what matters.”
“Arden—”
“And you don’t get to Arden me either. Something was really wrong tonight and Nathaniel knew what was going on and I didn’t.”
“How many times must I tell you?” He didn’t quite roll his eyes but, by God, he came perilously close. “This isn’t about Nathaniel.”
“I know,” I…well…I kind of yelled. “It’s about you. The only reason he could help you when I couldn’t is because he understands things about you that I don’t. And that’s only because you won’t let me. Which is your choice. Yours. You chose to make me worthless to you.”
He drew in a sharp breath.
And I steamed right on. “This has nothing to do with accepting you. It’s about accepting a lesser place in your life. And I’m not going to do that, Caspian. Because I love you and I’ve held nothing back from you and I deserve the same in return.”
We stared at each other, both a little shocked. I felt like a cartoon character who’d run off a cliff, legs pummeling empty air, only beginning to fall when I noticed there was nothing beneath me.
Caspian was frowning, eyes glacier pale, and just as bleak. “You don’t know what you’re asking for. There are some truths that change too much.”
“For the record, my patience for ominous pronouncements is at an all-time low. What truths? What do you mean?”
“Well. Reverse it. Think of the thing you’re most ashamed of. And imagine telling it to me. The man you claim to love.”
I did it. I thought about it. And he was right: it was awful. This searing combination of unfading remorse and utter, ugly nakedness.
“Fine.” I swallowed. Blinked back tears. “When I was, like, thirteen or something I tried to get in contact with my dad. He’s…not a good person, and he’s obsessed with Mum, so if he’d found us, it would have been really, really dangerous for her.”
Caspian looked genuinely flustered. “I didn’t mean for—you didn’t have to…”
“And”—a weird little giggle clawed its way out of my throat—“he’s one of those borderline personality types so probably he doesn’t give a fuck about me anyway.”
A hideous silence.
I did some jazz hands. “So. There you go. Now you know just how stupid and selfish I can be.”
“Don’t say that.” He pulled me into his arms and I went gladly enough, letting him enfold me. “You were a child. You wanted to be loved by the people who were supposed to love you.”
“Don’t make excuses for me.”
His breath was warm against my cheek. “I’m not. But you don’t deserve condemnation either.”
“I fucking hate myself for it.”
“You shouldn’t.” He turned his head and kissed the side of my brow. “There is nothing in you worthy of hate, my Arden. And I’m so sorry I made you tell me that.”
I glanced up. “I’m not. I mean, it wasn’t fun. But I trust you. With the worst of me, as well as the best, and all the squishy ambiguous bits in between.”
“Thank you,” he said, unexpectedly grave. “I hope to always honor that trust.”
“As I will for you.”
He didn’t respond.
“So, y’know”—I nudged him gently—“your turn.”
It took a long time, but he did eventually speak. The words coming slowly and painfully, like razor blades from his lips. “If I tell you, you’ll know what Eleanor said about me is right. That I’m sick and twisted and I ruin everything that’s good.”
“She only said that because she was angry.”
He shook his head. “No, she said it because it’s true. You see, I learned who I was when I was fourteen years old.”
“What happened when—wait. When your father died?”
“After that. When I seduced his business partner. His best friend.”
I…I genuinely had no idea what to say. Too much clamoring in my head. Nausea churning my stomach. And the memory of Lancaster Steyne’s cold gray eyes. The way they had lingered on Caspian, possessive and predatory and cruel. Oh God, how had I ever thought he was hot? And should I have…seen this? Guessed at something like it? At the very least? How fucking stupid and blind and ignorant was I?
“You seduced him?” I repeated carefully.
“Yes. I was angry with everyone, especially my mother who was close to Lancaster then. I felt she was betraying my father.” He uttered a soft laugh, devoid of mirth. “She wasn’t. I did that.”
“For fuck’s sake.” I was drowning but thrashing doggedly regardless. “I don’t see how a fourteen-year-old could have seduced anyone.”
He went rigid in my embrace. “You don’t believe me?”
“No, I believe you. But as far as I’m concerned, if an adult sleeps with a child, that’s abuse.”
I waited for him to accept my unassailable logic.
But all he gave me was another one of those hollow laughs. “You’re so sweet, Arden. But I wasn’t a child.”
“Are you seriously telling me”—my voice rose a little—“that if I went out and banged a fourteen-year-old you would be okay with that? You wouldn’t think it was deeply fucked up and wrong?”
“To say nothing of illegal,” he added for me. “No, of course it would be wrong. But it was different for me. I knew exactly what I was doing.”
I suddenly realized I was meant to be comforting him and, instead, we were sort of having an argument. But I didn’t know how to let it go. Hell, I didn’t want to let it go. How could he believe these things? How could he think I would? “You were a grieving teenager. He was an adult. Even if you thought you were consenting, it was his responsibility to…Jesus, Caspian. To look after you.”
Caspian shook me off impatiently, and rose. He seemed very tall just then, in his barely rumpled black tie, while I huddled naked in bed. “I know what you’re doing. I know this would be more comfortable for you if it was some heartrending tale of a vulnerable boy and a wicked uncle, but that simply isn’t true.”
His voice lashed at me and his words hurt. The injustice of them. I wiped away fresh tears with the heel of my hand. “It’s not about my comfort.”
“He didn’t force me. He didn’t rape me. He didn’t make me to do anything I wasn’t willing to do.” He gazed down at me and it was like looking through the bars caging a wounded beast. “You may be sure I experienced pleasure with him, Arden. On many occasions.”
“That’s still not the s-same as consent,” I said in a small voice.
“We were together a long time. Beyond any point that would absolve me of responsibility on grounds of age. I could have left him. And I chose not to.”
“Yes,” I protested, “because this stuff is complicated. My mum stayed with my dad for years. Half believing that if she could only be better and do things right, she could change him back into the wonderful, adoring man she married.”
He turned on me, almost snarling. “Don’t compare me to your mother. It does not reflect well on either of us.”
I held his gaze, shaky but committed. “You’re never going to convince me that a relationship between a fourteen-year-old boy and a grown man was the fourteen-year-old’s fault.”
“Then what if I told you how he cultivated my darkest desires. Nurtured my cruelty. Encouraged my worst impulses. How he taught me and indulged me, and brought me lovers to break like toys.”
“I’d say he was a sick fuck.”
Caspian threw back his head, and covered his face with his hands, more of that strange laughter bursting from between his fingers. “Now you sound like Nathaniel. But I was no sacrifice to Lancaster’s degeneracy. I was his acolyte.”
“You were his victim.”
He made a noise of frustration—maybe even anger. And spun away from me. “Stop it. I don’t want to hear this.” He curled his hands into his hair. “Why won’t you understand? Can’t you see? I’m ruined and filthy and fucked up. I want the people I love to suffer. Because that’s what turns me on above all else. Control and pain and degradation.”
“Yes. I know.” I steadied my breathing. Tried to meet the storm of his fury and pain with gentleness. “You’re a sadist and dominant. And yes, you’ve hurt me sometimes—”
“It’s the price of being with me.”
Okay. Screw gentle. “Let me fucking finish,” I yelled. “Yes, you’ve hurt me but I wanted you to hurt me in the ways you did. It’s not a price to me, it’s a privilege. I like it. Don’t you get it? And if you’re going to sit…well, stand…there and claim—fucking erroneously, by the way—that a child can meaningfully consent to sex, then you don’t have any right to tell me, a fully legal and empowered adult, that I can’t consent to control or pain or even degradation…from the man I…the man I love.”
Silence came down like steel. I gasped, suddenly breathless.
“You should be disgusted by me,” said Caspian, at last. “You should want nothing to do with me.”
I swayed exhaustedly where I knelt. “Well, I’m not. And I don’t. How many times are you going to ignore me telling you that I love you? Because I do. I really do. And you can think all these awful things about yourself if you must. But nothing—nothing, do you hear me—will make me believe them.”
“You can’t love me. You don’t know me.”
“You mean, because I didn’t know about this? That’s only because you lied to me about it.”
He paced restlessly, up and down that pristine room. This lost creature in Caspian Hart’s skin. “I didn’t lie.”
“I asked you outright. In Kinlochbervie.”
“No. You asked if someone had hurt me. And they haven’t.”
“Oh fucking hell.” I rubbed my hands against my burning eyes. “I could have hurt you. Don’t you realize how completely fucked it feels looking back at all the times I’ve pushed you on sex stuff with no clue about what happened to you?”
“Well,” he drawled, “I did warn you that I’m a cruel and selfish person.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He paused. And gazed down at me with eyes that had nothing in them at all. No light. No warmth. Nothing. “Because I didn’t want you to know. I wanted you to see me as you did. Not as the monster I am.”
“God, Caspian. You’re not a monster. You’re an abuse survivor.”
There was a long, long, increasingly unpleasant silence.
Then, in his coldest, sternest voice, “This isn’t working. I’ve enjoyed our time together, but we’re done.”
“Wait. What?”
But it was too late. He’d turned on his heel, and was fucking gone.
I threw myself out of bed and pulled on the nearest pair of pajama bottoms. Ran after Caspian into the hall.
“What the fuck?” I cried. “Seriously, what the fuck was that?”
Caspian’s attention flicked my way. He was utterly calm, but there was something terrible about it. Like shatter-proof glass, holding its shape when it’s nothing but cracks.
“You’re leaving me because I won’t tell you you’re evil?”
“No, Arden. I’m leaving you because you want me to believe things I cannot believe. Accept things I cannot accept. Be someone I cannot be.”
No. No. This couldn’t be happening. The world had gone slow and watery. I felt like he’d hit me. Except, y’know, inside. Right where there was nothing to protect my most naked, tender parts.
Tears were slipping down my cheeks and stinging the corners of my lips. “That’s not true. I just want you to see that you’re kinky, not twisted. And hurt, not broken.”
“You may use the flat for as long as you like,” he said. “And if you need money—”
“Shut up about the fucking flat and your fucking money.”
“Very well.”
Oh God, how could he look so perfect, arranging his cuffs like he was goddamn stock art: handsome young businessman in formal wear adjusting sleeves while standing in luxury interior.
And I still couldn’t quite believe this was happening.
Except Caspian was walking away from me.
I lunged after him and caught his arm. Spun him round. Gazed up at him pleadingly, my eyes heavy, and my face hot and wet and sticky from crying. “I don’t understand.”
“There’s nothing to understand.” His expression didn’t change. His tone gave me nothing. “I can’t do this, Arden.”
“Please, can’t we—”
“I thought you would hate me and there could be nothing worse. Instead you pity me and that I cannot bear. I will not have you make me weak.”
Very gently, he peeled my hand away. Turned. Walked.
My skin burned from his already fading touch. “Caspian?”
He paused.
I could barely speak, my mouth was so full of tears, and my heart this helpless lump of rubbery meat flopping in my chest. “Can you promise me one more thing?”
“I very much doubt it.”
“Can you maybe…think about seeing a counselor? Nobody should feel the way you do.”
He half turned, his face all shadows and blade-sharp angles. “How I feel is not your concern.”
“You need to talk to someone. Please give yourself that.”
“Therapy is not a magic spell. But for your information, Nathaniel arranged for me to see someone when were together.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“And you did it?”
“Weekly for over a year.”
My head was full of white noise. Every breath I took snapped like icicles in my throat. “Well, y’know something? Whoever you saw? They did a piss-poor job.”
The door opened. Closed.
And that was it. We were done.