I brought another beignet to my mouth, taking a big bite and moaning at how good it tasted. Wanting to admit being at a café out in the open with others felt like normality. But this was not what life had been. I’d merely lived vicariously through our staff who’d told me of these little treasures nestled in the heart of the city.
Archie and I had tried to replicate days like this. There were many Sundays just like this one, where I’d made French toast for us for breakfast. Both of us bonding over the sweet taste of comfort food. We’d carved out these moments for each other—created our own traditions. Our own memories to cherish.
I missed him now. Not wanting to admit that and draw any more attention to my brother, I kept quiet about it.
“You’re not going to eat yours?” I asked, chewing. “Why not?”
“Because the reason you’re eating it is because you drank too much last night. And the reason you drank too much is because of me.”
His admission made me stop mid-bite. He really was capable of thoughtfulness. It clashed with his sinister motives and fucked with my head.
Lowering my beignet, I set it on my plate. Then mentally retraced all the steps to what he was insinuating. They added up to something greater. “You can always let me go.”
Cassius continued sipping coffee as though contemplating it. “I wasn’t referring to our agreement.”
“Agreement?”
“You staying with me.”
“That sounds like I have a choice.”
“You overheard my conversation with Ridley.” He drew in a sharp breath. “Which means you were eavesdropping.”
“I didn’t. Fine, maybe I did. Maybe I just wanted to hear news from home.”
“You got drunk because you were upset to hear your father isn’t coming for you.”
Somewhere in the kitchen, a plate crashed to the floor. The smash so loud I could feel it all the way in the depths of my soul. The scurrying of staff to go pick up whatever had smashed felt panicked.
Cassius didn’t seem to notice. “No one is coming to rescue you.”
“You don’t know that.”
His glare told me he did. If he found this strange, that they weren’t coming, he didn’t make a thing of it.
He turned to face me. “Last night, you mentioned visiting Lafayette Cemetery a while ago. Do you remember?”
Maybe what came next was him lecturing me on drinking. Then I realized with each thing I shared, I might give something about me away. Something I didn’t want him to know about me—like I wasn’t actually a Glassman, not in the sense that mattered. If my stock went down and I was useless to him . . .
I shook the thought from my mind and went with, “It’s all a bit vague.”
“What happened?”
“I was just visiting the cemetery. Like the tourists.”
“Interesting.”
“Not really. I went to pay my respects.”
“Something upset you while you were there?” He leaned closer. “What was it?”
“It’s normal for people to shed tears at those places.”
“But not to come away scared. To warn their brother of danger.”
I’d rather think about anything other than that place. The wall of names. One of them being mine. Reaching for my coffee, I took several long gulps. Remembering how I’d felt this morning made me set the glass down and nudge it away.
“You can talk to me,” he said, his tone kind.
My back stiffened at his seeming ruse to soften me up. “You took a big risk bringing me here. People might recognize me from my photo and tell the police they’ve seen me with you.”
“For that to happen, your photo would need to be released to the public.”
I tried to swallow my searing doubt, this lump in my throat not resolving.
“As you’ve never been here before, I’m assuming you were kept hidden. Are you curious why?”
“How do you know I’ve not been here before.”
“You’ve never tasted a beignet.” He shrugged. “And the fact no one brought one home for you is a fucking travesty.”
“It’s just a doughnut.”
“You don’t know this city.” He caressed his forehead as though massaging out the pain. “Anya, you’ve been protected all your life.” It almost sounding soothing.
“From what?”
From him.
“If you’re so precious, why wouldn’t your father report you missing? I’ll tell you. He doesn’t want the FBI digging around his life. Doesn’t that set off alarms with you?”
“I’m in just as much danger at your place, apparently.”
“I can’t deny it.”
A jolt of panic shivered up my spine as I realized. “You have cameras?” When he didn’t deny it, I added, “In my bedroom?”
“No, not there. Or your bathroom.”
He’d replayed the footage of me outside his office door with my ear pressed against it as I’d listened to his conversation with Ridley. “You’re spying on me?”
“They’re for security.” He shrugged. “It’s good to get a heads-up when you’re expecting someone.”
“Like my father?”
“Only apparently, he’s not coming.”
A jolt of doubt had me reeling.
My dad wouldn’t abandon me. He would search out where I was and demand my release. Or at least send someone to come get me and lower the risk to himself. That would make sense. I would forgive him that. I wouldn’t want anyone else hurt because of this man.
Despite all these doubts, I had to manage what was right in front of me—him.
“I’ve only known you a short time,” I began.
He seemed to guess where this was going, and his frown deepened.
“You seem reasonable. Other than the fact . . . you know.”
“Your point.”
“Whatever argument you have with my family is not with me. I’m caught in the middle. It’s not fair. I believe you’ll do the right thing.”
“Which is?”
I nudged a beignet on a plate toward him. “You know.”
He pushed the plate back my way. “Life’s not fair. That’s the first lesson you need to learn. Second, you leaving is nonnegotiable.”
“But—”
“I haven’t finished. The fact you’re able to move freely in my home is a goddamn privilege.”
“You can trust me—”
“Clearly, all evidence suggests—and I’m referring to that bottle of Chopin Reserve vodka you almost finished off last night—that you can’t even trust yourself.”
“Well, excuse me for trying to find ways to cope.” I glanced down at my half-empty plate. “I just wanted to feel better.” I wanted to forget.
“Do you?”
A stab of sorrow. “I don’t want to eat alone. I’m done eating alone.”
“You had Archie.”
“Not anymore.”
“What do you want?”
“I’m lonely.” I hated admitting it.
He rolled his eyes and reached for the pastry on his plate. The one I’d pushed in front of him. He lifted it to his mouth and took a bite. A quirk of a smile lit up his face as he chewed. Using his napkin to wipe his mouth, he nodded to show his approval. “Usually, I don’t like to have anything that . . .” He stopped himself from saying any more.