That dead air swallowed me as I got a mug from the cupboard and poured the water into it, watching it slowly turn black before I added some milk. It warmed my palms as I walked it back into the living room, finding Cora on the couch, her knees tucked up to her chest, the pad of her thumb wedged between her teeth.
She didn’t look at me as I stopped, so I made the first move. “Here.”
Her eyes didn’t move, not for a few seconds anyway, before they slowly ran up me and landed on the mug. “What is it?” she asked, reaching over and taking it from my hands.
“Earl Grey.”
Her head stayed bowed, gaze pinned to the mug like she wasn’t sure if it was real. For a second, I wondered if she’d ever actually looked at something that closely before. Then, slowly, she lifted her chin. Her eyes found mine, soft, almost fragile. “I love this tea.”
I let out a low huff, shrugging it off. “You’re English, I assumed as much.”
Her lips brushed the rim before she took a careful sip. Only when the tea slid down her throat did something in her loosen. Her shoulders sank. Her head tipped back, settling against the throw I’d left over the couch like she was finally allowing herself to breathe.
It was easier to let her assume that I thought she’d like the tea. I only knew because she took a cup with her to the classes she wanted to go to every time I took her. I guessed how much milk by the dark beige colour it always had. Picking the semi-skimmed one was pure luck.
But it was better that she didn’t think I cared that much about what she did, what her habits were. She, potentially, had someone stalking her, and I didn’t want to add to that fire by admitting I’d kept a very close eye on her and scare her shitless. Leaving her without me. Without security. And alone.
My eyes fell back to her as she took another sip. “Are you okay on your own down here, or do you want me to sit with you?”
Her head angled at me. “Don’t you have a social life to uphold?”
I huffed. “Of course. But as I made it clear, you take priority these days. And if you want me to sit with you, then—”
“I’m fine.” Her body moved as she said it, some of the tea swishing over the edge. She shuffled her legs until they were crossed beneath her.
And with that, I should have gone upstairs. I should have left her be. But because Cora Holland was like an itch I was never going to be able to scratch, my feet didn’t move.
My mouth, on the other hand…
“Just so you know, I haven’t believed you once when you told me you’re fine.”
Her eyes were back on me, her head shaking a little. “Good for you. I told you I’m fine.”
I set my sights on the arm chair across from her and sank into the black leather, groaning as my aching bones settled for the first time today. “You know that it’s normal if you’re not.”
The mug met her lips again. Her eyes rolled again. “Yes, genius, I’m well aware of how it’s okay to not feel fine. But what choice do I have?” Her stare dropped to her tea. “If I hide away until I’m fine I’ll slowly lose my platform, and believe it or not, I need that to be fine. So please just let me pretend to be okay until I am, because if I lose this, I lose everything.”
I sat back. “And by everything, you mean the money for your mom’s care, right?”
Every bit of colour faded from her face as it rose. “How did you—”
“Background checks,” I added before she could respond. “And because I found it odd how a girl who never smiles outside of the confines of her house was one of the biggest influencers of her generation.” My head tilted. “Call me curious, but you don’t exactly come across as the socialite type.”
She shrugged, like it was nothing. Like there was no point in hiding from someone who knew. “It’s survival. My mum is everything to me and I’d do anything to see her looked after the way she deserves to be. Including doing brand deals that make me cringe and attending events that make me want to claw my eyes out.”
I sat forward, my elbows resting on my knees. “So the art classes?”
For the first time all day, her face lit up, only a little, but I caught the way her cheeks were painted with a glow I’d rarely seen on her before.
“Painting has been my favourite thing in the world ever since I could hold a crayon. It was my way of getting everything I couldn’t say out. Which happened a lot considering I grew up with…” She trailed off, her head shaking. “You probably know all of that, don’t you?”
I shrugged. “A little. Sick mother. Absent father.”
“One shitty childhood.”
“I get it.” I sat back. “I mean, my family were pretty normal, but…” The words got caught in my throat. “The art stuff I get.”
“You paint?”
