Ivy, page 31
All week, she’d been mentally preparing herself, bracing, for holidays spent alone. Meals eaten alone in front of the television weren’t that bad, right? Thanksgiving was just another Thursday. She’d survive it without turkey and its trimmings. And it would still be Christmas even if there were no gifts wrapped beneath a tree—or a tree, period.
But this . . . her eyes flooded.
Cassia loathed surprises, but this was a shock she’d gladly accept. Mostly, she was grateful not to be alone.
She hadn’t heard from Edwin today. Not that she’d heard from him much in the past ten days other than the occasional text.
Ivy and Elora had left the manor earlier, probably to spend time with their families. Per normal, Cassia had kept her distance from her roommates and wouldn’t have had a clue about their holiday plans, except Geoff had stopped by her room yesterday.
The butler had informed her that the staff would be taking an extended holiday. He’d be gone until Monday. The weekly housekeeping would be moved to Monday. And he’d noted that both Ivy and Elora would be gone for Thanksgiving, asking Cassia if she had plans to leave the manor too.
When she’d told him no, that her plans involved a ham sandwich, he’d looked at her with utter pity. Cassia hadn’t liked Geoff much before yesterday, but after that look, dislike had shifted to hatred.
So why was Francis here? Why was she bustling around the kitchen, her gray bob brushing against her shoulders?
“I thought everyone would be gone this weekend,” Cassia said. “You didn’t have to do this. I could have made my own meal.”
“Our meal,” Francis corrected, lifting two plates instead of one from the cupboard. “Would you mind eating together?”
The lump in Cassia’s throat doubled in size. “Not at all.”
“Good.” Francis gave her another kind smile. A smile Cassia had come to look forward to each time she walked into this kitchen.
“What about your family?” Cassia asked. “Didn’t you have plans?”
“No plans. My partner, Daisy, is a nurse, and she’s working today. So it would have been me at home alone, making a turkey for myself. She’s a vegetarian. Geoff told me that you were going to stay over the weekend, and he suggested I just cook here instead of at home. Then we could enjoy each other’s company.”
Cassia’s jaw dropped. “This was Geoff’s idea? You’re kidding.”
“Not kidding.”
“Huh.” Okay, so maybe she didn’t hate Geoff.
Francis laughed as she filled their plates so full Cassia wasn’t sure where she’d find the room for all that food—not that she wouldn’t try to eat every last bite. “His motives aren’t entirely pure. He made me promise to save him leftover stuffing. It’s his favorite, and between you and me, his wife isn’t much of a cook.”
“Geoff’s married?”
“For thirty years.” Francis nodded. “His wife is the definition of lovely. She works at Aston in the admissions office.”
“I had no idea.” Probably because Cassia avoided Geoff about as much as she avoided Ivy and Elora. The only person she’d spent much time with was Francis. Even then, they didn’t spend hours together talking about their private lives.
Francis picked up their heaping plates. “I’ve set up the dining room for us since it’s a special occasion.”
“That’s . . . thank you.” Cassia unstuck her feet, rushing to help carry a plate and follow Francis from the kitchen.
Pressed linen napkins and goblets of ice water awaited them in the dining room. A candelabra with three arms held a trio of tapered candles, their flames dancing. Above the table, the crystal chandelier cast golden beams throughout the room.
As Cassia sat down, marveling at the setting, tears welled in her eyes. This was the fanciest Thanksgiving of her life.
Francis glanced over just as a tear dripped down Cassia’s cheek. “Oh no, dear. What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.” Cassia waved it off, wiping her face dry. “This is just so . . . nice. Thank you.”
“No thanks needed. It’s my pleasure.” Francis picked up a fork. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
“Happy Thanksgiving.” Cassia’s heart clenched, so she focused on the meal. A moan escaped her throat at the first bite. “This is delicious.”
Not only was the ambience stunning, the food was delectable. One of the best meals she’d ever tasted. Francis deserved a shower of compliments, but Cassia bit back the words, feeling . . . guilty.
Last year, her father had worked for hours on their Thanksgiving meal. He had never been a great cook, but the effort he’d made on holidays had compensated for his skill.
He’d tried so hard. So, so hard.
Until . . . he hadn’t. Until he’d given up.
Until he’d left her alone.
Cassia shouldn’t feel guilty, yet loving this meal felt like a betrayal.
“What about your family?” Francis asked. “You didn’t have plans?”
“No, I, um . . .” She toyed with a green bean. “I don’t have family. My mother was never really in the picture. And my father died this year.”
“Cassia.” Francis’s fork clattered on her plate as she set it down to reach for Cassia’s arm, giving it a squeeze. “I’m so, so sorry. I had no idea.”
“I don’t really talk about it.” Just a few mentions to Edwin. And now Francis.
“Understandable.”
Cassia gave her a sad smile, then changed the subject. “How long have you and Daisy been together?”
“Twelve years,” Francis said, graciously leaving Cassia’s history alone. “We met at a cooking class.”
“You take cooking classes?”
The chef laughed, shaking her head. “No, I was the instructor. Teaching is a hobby, so I take on two or three classes a year. Daisy was my worst student of that particular course. By the end of the session—it was only two weeks—we’d gone on three dates. On date four, we decided that I’d do the cooking. She tackles the laundry.”
“Harmony.” Cassia giggled.
“Exactly.”
Francis entertained Cassia through the meal, telling stories about other cooking students and their epic fails. Then she shared her plans for Daisy’s Christmas presents and asked how Cassia’s semester was going.
Finals were rapidly approaching, and Cassia’s aggressive study schedule hadn’t waned. Not only was she determined to maintain her perfect GPA, but the work was her companion. The work gave her something to do besides thinking about Edwin.
Besides missing him.
It had been ten days since Zain’s motorcycle accident, and though he was still in the hospital, the doctors expected him to make a full recovery. That was the last update Edwin had sent, early yesterday morning.
What was he doing for Thanksgiving? She’d texted earlier and he hadn’t responded. Edwin hadn’t responded to quite a few of her texts in the past week.
Cassia was doing her best not to take it personally. His focus was his family, as it should be, right? And it wasn’t like she was his girlfriend. They hadn’t made commitments.
So why did she have this gnawing feeling in her stomach? Why did she feel like he was slipping through her fingers?
They’d only been a something for weeks. Yet his absence was a void.
She missed him.
And that scared the hell out of her.
“This is incredible,” Cassia told Francis, shoving her worries aside. Shoving the guilt aside. The chef had earned the praise. “Everything you make is incredible, so this isn’t really a surprise.”
“Thank you.” Francis ducked her chin. “I really love it, cooking for you girls.”
“How did you come to work here?” Cassia asked.
“Geoff, actually. He’s managed the manor for years. Most of that time, it’s been empty, so the staffing was minimal. But when Ivy decided to live here while she attended Aston, Geoff reached out and asked if I would be interested in being the private chef.”
“Ah. And how did you meet Geoff before you started here? Another cooking class?”
“Actually, in a book club. Geoff and I bonded over our mutual dislike of every book the club picked. Until finally, we decided to leave their group and start our own.”
Cassia laughed. “Do you still have the club?”
“We do.” Francis grinned. “It’s only the two of us and our meetings are held randomly in the kitchen.”
They talked through the rest of the meal, mostly about books, until their plates were empty and their bellies full. Then Cassia insisted on helping do the dishes and clean up the kitchen.
After closing the dishwasher, she walked into Francis’s space, pulling her into a tight hug. “Thank you.”
Francis hugged her back. “You’re welcome.”
“Can I meet Daisy?”
“She’d be delighted.” Francis let her go and beamed. “After you ace your finals, we’ll have a celebratory dinner.”
Now she had a meal to look forward to besides breakfast on Sundays. If there was still such a thing as Sunday breakfasts. This was just a hard time for Edwin, right? Soon, Zain would be home and life would go back to normal. They’d have their dates at the café and nights in Cassia’s bed.
“I’m headed home for a lazy evening in front of the television,” Francis said, digging her keys from a drawer in the kitchen.
“I think I’ll do the same.” Cassia yawned, and with one last hug, left the kitchen and meandered down the hallways.
She’d just rounded a corner, ready to cross the foyer for the staircase, when the manor’s front door burst open and Ivy stormed inside.
“Fuck you,” Ivy barked.
Cassia’s eyes widened, her mouth opening to defend herself, but then realized Ivy wasn’t speaking to her. Ivy had aimed her comment at Edwin, who came inside behind his sister, pushing the door closed.
“What the hell is your problem, Ivy?”
“You!” She whirled on him, her blond hair swishing across the back of her jade dress.
While she was dressed for a special occasion, Edwin looked rumpled and weary. His jeans bagged at the knees, like he’d worn them for so long that the denim had been stretched and restretched. His white button-down shirt was wrinkled, the sleeves rolled up his forearms. His hair was disheveled and his jaw stubbled from days of not shaving.
He was beautiful, but he looked like shit.
Cassia resisted the urge to say his name. She held her breath, her body a statue in the hopes she’d be invisible.
“You were supposed to be there today,” Ivy snapped at him.
“I told you last night, I wasn’t going to that fucking party.”
Wait. What party? Cassia bit the inside of her cheek. If only she could blend into the walls. Maybe now that she didn’t hate Geoff, he could teach her his tricks, because that butler was really good at being invisible.
“It’s Thanksgiving.” Ivy spoke through gritted teeth, her hands planted on her hips.
“Yeah, and you should have skipped it. Mom and Dad are pretending everything is fine. Mom’s showing her friends the art she bought last week. Dad’s bragging about his Ferrari. It’s all bullshit. They pretend for their asshole friends while Zain is still in the hospital.”
“I know that!” Ivy shouted. “Don’t you think I know that?”
“Then why did you go? You could have come with me to the hospital.”
Ivy seethed. “You know why I didn’t go to the hospital. Why I’m not going back there.”
“That is your choice. Those are your issues. So don’t put the fight you had with Dad on me, okay?”
She’d had a fight with their father? Cassia hated that she was listening to a conversation clearly meant to be private. Getting tangled up with Clarence family drama would only lead to disaster, so she tried to inch away, to slip around the corner, but the moment she lifted a foot, Edwin’s gaze flicked her way.
“Sorry,” she mouthed.
He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, like he knew exactly what was going to happen.
Ivy followed his gaze, turning to see Cassia—one foot in the air and an apologetic smile etched on her face.
Shit. “I didn’t mean to listen. I was just—”
“Listening?” Ivy’s lip curled. “Pitiful. You are pitiful.”
Cassia winced.
“Ivy.” Edwin raked a hand through his hair, but if Cassia had hoped he’d come to her defense, a chastising tone was all she’d get.
That stung worse than Ivy’s insult.
“Whatever.” With a flick of her golden hair, Ivy took the stairs, her heels accentuating every step. Her stomping faded down the hallway. Then a door slammed so loudly it would have shaken the walls of any other house.
“Fuck.” Edwin sighed, his jaw clenched.
“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.” Cassia walked closer, holding up her hands. “I was just leaving the kitchen.”
“It’s fine,” Edwin muttered but nothing about him seemed fine.
“Are you okay?”
“No, I’m not fucking okay,” he snapped, making her stop short. Then he turned and strode for the door, ripping it open and marching into the night.
Cassia stood in the foyer, frozen to the glossy marble floor.
For ten days, she’d missed Edwin. For ten days, she’d worried about him.
Apparently, that sentiment had been a one-way street.
Her hands fisted at her sides as she climbed the staircase. She slammed her own bedroom door, hoping that Ivy heard it from her wing. Then Cassia went to her table, putting in her earbuds and cranking up her music until it blocked out any other sound.
She dismissed the notes she’d been reviewing this morning from a lecture last week. No way she’d be able to focus on school. So instead, she rose up on her toes, her arms lifting above her head, and did a spin.
The move was graceful, though slightly off, much like the last time she’d danced around the room. Music blasted in her ears, and as she spun for a second time, she gave her emotions to the movement. Frustration streamed from her fingertips. Irritation poured from her pointed toes.
The movements flowed but with the unbalanced edge of anger. Cassia danced to take away the pain. She danced so she wouldn’t scream.
She poured her wounded heart into her muscles. Her body warmed and sweat beaded at her temples by the time the first song ended. She let the next song play, followed by the next, until her lungs burned and her head had cleared. As the song changed again, she tore out her earbuds and dropped to her heels.
With her hands on her knees, she closed her eyes. “I’m not pitiful.”
Cassia Collins was many things. She was lonely. She was sad. But she would never again be pitiful.
“No, you are not.” The deep voice carried through the room.
“Jesus.” Cassia gasped. Edwin was leaning against her doorframe. “Knock much?”
“I did.” He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. “You didn’t answer when I knocked, but I heard your footsteps. I didn’t know you were a dancer.”
Her mouth pursed in a thin line as she crossed her hands over her chest.
“You’re amazing, Red.”
She shrugged. “It’s just a hobby.”
Edwin crossed the room, his steps slow. Predatory. “You’re not pitiful.”
“No, I’m not.” Cassia raised her chin as he stood before her.
“I should have defended you.”
“Yes, you should have.”
Edwin sighed. “I’m sorry.”
She made him stand before her, his eyes pleading for a few long moments, before she granted his reprieve. “You’re forgiven.”
Maybe she forgave too easily, not just Edwin but everyone. Usually all it took was an honest apology and the truth.
How much different would her Thanksgiving have been if her father had just given her an apology? If he had trusted her with his truths instead of hiding them?
Before she could let herself follow that train of thought, Edwin’s arm banded around her back and he hauled her into his chest. His nose pressed into her hair, dragging in the scent of her shampoo. “I missed this smell. Like strawberries and vanilla.”
She wrapped her arms around his waist, ready to sink into his hard chest, except he let her go too soon, walking to the wingback chair and slumping in its seat.
“You haven’t told Ivy about us, have you?” Cassia asked.
“Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“Yes.” No. The idea of being his secret struck a nerve. It zapped her energy.
After months and months of secrets, she was losing the strength to keep them locked behind iron bars. The prison cell was stretched at its seams. Adding another just might cause them all to spill free.
“What happened with Ivy?” she asked.
“Drama,” he muttered. “Some fight with Dad about a job she wanted that he made sure wasn’t ever going to happen. I feel bad that her Thanksgiving was ruined, but I also don’t. She knew what she’d be getting when she went over there. Mom and Dad have all but forgotten their son’s in the hospital. While Zain’s lying in a bed, they hosted a goddamn dinner party.”
“Sorry.”
He waved it off. “Don’t be sorry for me. I didn’t go.”
So he’d missed his Thanksgiving too? “Francis made an entire meal. There is plenty in the fridge.”
“Nah, I ate. I took dinner to Zain.”
“That was nice of you.” Her heart melted. As an only child, Cassia could only dream of that sort of loyalty. The unwavering love of a brother. “Do you want to stay awhile?”
“Can’t.” Edwin leaned forward, bracing his arms on his thighs. She’d never seen him like this, exhausted and detached.
She took a step, ready to pull him into her arms, but he stood in a flash.
“I’ll see you, okay?”
“Oh.” She blinked as he strode past her without so much as a glance. “Uh, sure.” When?
She didn’t let herself ask. That was something she would have asked Josh. And he would have called her clingy. So she swallowed it down as Edwin walked out the door, leaving without another word.
Cassia stood still, barely breathing, waiting until the sound of the front door opening and closing drifted upstairs. Then she wandered to her bed, plopping on its edge and rubbing the ache in her chest.
