Am I? I’m not convinced. I have friends, but it doesn’t feel the same as this. Sophie is… different. I’m comfortable with her, but maybe it’s too comfortable because she’snotpart of my inner circle of friends I trust with my life. Rupert, Milo, Lavinia…
Maybe Duncan has a point.
“You spending so much time with her isn’t a good idea. You giving her all this attention because you feel guilty, and then you’ll vanish. My daughter has a good heart. A soft heart and she—”
“I’m not doing this because I feel guilty,” I snap.
“Oh?” Duncan raises an eyebrow, and he does it so much better than I ever could. “So you don’t feel guilty about running her over with a car?”
“I didn’t run her over, and I feel horribly guilty that she was hurt, but that’s not the reason I’m spending time with her,” I say before I can stop myself.
There’s only one reason why I’m spending time with Sophie, and if I tell Duncan it’s only to get the job with FluxFuel, it will only make it so, so worse.
Maybe I don’t need that job now.
Duncan glances at me, mouth tight, brow furrowed. Maybe telling him the truth about FluxFuel would be better because now he thinks I’m interested in Sophie…
“I don’t want to know. I don’t want to hear it. I only want you to stay away from my daughter. Because if you hurt her again…” The expression on Duncan’s face is serious and quite scary. “There won’t be a place in Laandia that you can hide from me.”
15
Sophie
Ashtonboughtmepaint.
Not to be confused with picking up my paints, which my sisterstillhasn’t done—Ashton went to the art store in Battle Harbour yesterday afternoon and bought out their stock of paint and canvases and had them delivered to the castle this morning.
Boxes containing tubes of paint, all the colours of the rainbow, all pristine and ready to use, just for me. A crate of canvases, of all sizes, all silent and waiting for me to give them something to say.
Brushes. A brand-new palette without the stains I’ve never been able to scrub off. An easel I set up by the window so I can see the ocean.
If I had ten good toes, I’d be dancing with joy, with disbelief, with confusion because why did Ashton do this? Why all this? The visiting, the keeping me company. It’s like he’s babysitting me to keep me from getting into trouble.
Only I never get into trouble, and it’s been years since I’ve needed a babysitter.
Why is he being so nice to me?
Ashton has been a surprise since the accident—visiting me,talkinglike we’refriendsand playing Yahtzee with me for hours. He acts like he’s concerned about my well-being.
At first, I thought it was guilt, but after spending a few hours with him, it’s obvious Ashton doesn’t feel guilty. He never brings up the accident, save asking about the pain level and if I want him to find something to make me feel so much better. There must be some sort of remorse—he’s not a sociopath—but there’s been no grovelling for forgiveness.
I’m glad. I don’t like grovelling. It always annoys me when I find myself apologizing to people when the problem isn’t mine.
I’m a people pleaser. I apologize too much. I’mnice, according to Ashton. I’ve never thought that was a problem before.
When I get mad, I bury it, and it comes out in my painting, angry strokes of red and black. When I have to confront someone, I… don’t. Not really. It’s better to catch bees with honey rather than vinegar, and I take that to heart, even when I’m the one offended, or hurt or disrespected.
People rarely disrespect me.
Ashton is sarcastic, often rude, and clearly doesn’t care about the things that often keep me up at night, like making sure I haven’t hurt someone’s feelings. Stella is the same way, but when I’m with her, I find myself sinking into myself so I don’t annoy her.
Ashton doesn’t let me do that.
It’s… refreshing.
I tell myself I’m going to ask him why he’s being like this when he arrives. I’m going to thank him for the paints and canvases and for giving me the opportunity to do what I love.And then I’m going to demand he tell mewhy,and if he doesn’t give me a suitable answer, I’m going to start to assume that maybe there’s a small chance that he might actuallylikeme.
But I’m sure he’ll have a suitable answer. Payback from him hitting me with the car, for one thing. He’s bored, is another.
